Catholic Camp, After Robert Lowell (Circa 1978) Poem by Warren Falcon

[from early poems,1970's, youthful attempts at voice]

An island of pines mocks
Our Lady's open gesture.
A rain of sticks beats
upon tents of the austere.
The priest lives near the
Sanctuary where Mary, too,
Resides, and the Host,
And a maid's quarter in
the rear, her cleansing
Hands, and the Father's.

Will venial sins vere
These holy scansions
Over blood, over wine
Most sincerely draught,
A grace bought it seems
By our prostrations and
Murmurs and fears for
Heaven in uneven loaves?

Are these leavened,
And do we mortals
Sort our thanks,
Each chew a Rosary
Sacrifice renewed
With each bite?

Finalized anew, each
swallow descends,
appetite's endless
increase reaching
final conclusion
ever carnal - repititious
hunger craving only
the body but not the
Deity of the Lord.