finds itself in an enclosed space
snorts and brandishes its horns
snagging them in anything nearby
or anyone, tearing them free
so it, the bull, or nose
can rush about in the room
finding the obstacles
the boundaries, protesting them
then retreats to the center of the room
turns and turns, looking for what to charge
unless some daring picador
opens a door
in which case this nose
rushes into that next room
to repeat its performance
as if it had learned nothing
until some kind soul opens a door
into the outdoors
then the nose
trots off among the grasses and the trees
the flowers and the breeze
rears and inhales
and trots off quietly
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