Sunday A Week After Ayer Poem by Native Dreamer
Sunday A Week After Ayer
My head grows big here
with ideas i want to get down on paper
Madrid? Budapest?
Lorca, Picasso? Relentless questions
as i hide in the Sunday church
Until all that remains
in the tabernacle i see
is a chalice which seems like a womb,
absorbing my guilt,
O Lord make haste to help me before the hearse arrives.
So long as the demon drink doesnt take me ill feel the birds song
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 9:47:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
