You island in the blood, Mina de Oro!

You island in the blood, Mina de Oro!
Stuff of violence & vagabondage
in your wilderness ever locked
that long green childhood & idols
marking my early schools

Gold has always been the friars’
theology, conquista in the loom
of churches & antique saints
swamp of my gin & games:  & fingers
that trade in agora of lines

Can only rue the passage of time,
slow boats & kinfolks who bubbled
in its fruits & floods—Mina de Oro!
& dark voices in rooms of towns
that live with dust, grass & evening bats

Of all my solitudes:  friends/foes
whom I can never into their circle
of loves break, bitches who breed
merchants, colonels & bishops
& brats who shit at my peculiar crap

Mina de Oro!  Into your forests & streets
my heart’s mud & spleen ever flow:
Here, a distance of air, land & disease,
I gather my own shards & revolutions
whipping out memoirs for my personal moon—

From Collection/ Rosary of Summer, 1977

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This entry was posted in POETRY OF EDEL GARCELLANO, selected by G.Y. Guillermo. Bookmark the permalink.

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