spanish village 1991

I remember the bulls running
the wine in the water bottles
the dirt roads
blasted by the boiling summer sunshine
the eggs
flour thrown about at anyone
at everyone other than the old
the banging of drums
clattering off the villages' white walls
roaring through my drunken head
through my eyes and out into crazy visions
visions of lit fires flaming from oil drums
burning the night crimson
hotter than a hell through which
I see a blue bucket standing six feet high
so I run for it
straight at it and leap as high as i can
and crash over into the shit inside
laughing with the creation of festivals