Notes on a Prize Fight

The crowd stood there tightly packed 
Into the casino's arena under the lights from 
The vaulted ceilings like pack animals.

It was gaudily ornamented with fake gold 
And red seat fabric and red carpets 
red red red red everywhere 
From the balcony to the general admissions seats on the floor
No doubt, an ode to the bull's rage that swept violently the streets of Pamplona and elsewhere in Spain.

The arena smelled of sweat and booze 
And piss and s**t.

There is no humanity in the dens of wild beasts.


--The Lights--
They were hot and bright
Like an artificial sun never dimming
Or setting like on the Queen's empire--
It was disorienting even to the sober.

One would go blind if they dared
To stray their eyes from the ring
And the prize fighters beating 
The hell out of each other for cash
To look up at the gnarled 
And fabricated steel of the ceilings.

It didn't matter though
No one strayed their 
Eyes and blinking was seldom.

They were attentive like beasts
Stalking their prey ready for the kill.

It was sickening to see the savagery 
In their eyes fueled by drink and hormones.

There is no humanity in eternal light.