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.
Copyright © Timothy Ray | Year Posted 2022
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