This is the crazed, manic energy of the bull at the end of the fight, fatally wounded but ploughing ahead, driven only by pain and anger and the mindless will to go on living.
Your gravity, your grace have turned a tideIn me, no lunar power can reverse;But in your narcoleptic eyes I spiedA sightlessness tonight: or something worse,A disregard that made me feel unmanned.Mean...