Our Lady of Guadalupe

our lady of Guadalupe stands alight in corner air her gown emerald, cerise, gold Don Pedro stands afore glass to glass in an amber glow Lowry’s beaked bird of uva descent shadows flicker here, there on the morrow lies the tropical carnage the insect floor, the frogs call all night offshore the everlasting beacon of an occultist light humanities illusion of delusion, forevermore calling ships to a harbor where i have none the rain praters, the storm roars, the poet walks the floor she stirs, i am not there, panther pillow rising Morrison's Spanish caravans once more the earth pulls as Don Pedro and i kneel the carnal carnival between her naps is when my desk finds the lines while waiting for the sun Abilene 6/18 “How, unless you drink as I do, could you hope to understand the beauty of an old Indian woman playing dominoes with a chicken?” ? Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano for those of you who have attended an Arts and Madness conference know the story. Edna St. Vincent Millay, master of the sonnet, the rage of her age now collects dust in the library and no longer studied at the university. her life of addiction and the cost in the wake of self-induced destruction surrounding her. the stupor of Elizabeth Bishop cost her the chance of a happy marriage. i could go on but what is important to me is that 28 years ago i walked away from the madness and kept the art.