VII. for Emily

 The name of it--

my name

my blood

upon the hill, down
in the valley-- a vein

popping out
along the road

Globules of my name
in a shower of stars

The stain of it
when winds upset
the basin

far below

I spill out

it gathers
beside me
wheels away
from the ruddy
pools of me

eddies like
a rose

in scarlet ribbons
like rain


My imaginary animals
make up the contours
of the bodies beside me

I have seen them
with the infinite refuse
hidden beneath
God's white robes

tracing their fingers
on the wall
like a mourner who is
faithful to no one

my coffin is closed on the dais
my body remains torn
for refusing the advances
of the hungry

the hunger of the field
and the cattle grazing

the hunger of God's heart
in my heart

the hunger of the auras of the damned 
stealing light from my shoulder

the hunger of the Colombian government
throwing stars at me
like a nude gazelle setting fire to the grass

the hunger of those beasts

seated as dignitaries
at the peace tables

I sit on the dais beside my coffin
my body
and the vanishing light

as the light walks out
the held daffodil
peals in thunder

From Farallones


I cannot comprehend

the immense silence

of those grasses

along the plains

Los Llanos

extending to God

like a sulking woman

extends her lip


fleeing                   disappears

                              to weep

                              beneath the carcasses

                              of her imaginary animals


                              I guess

                              I am

                              an imaginary

                              animal, too

                              but I don't feel God

                              even though

                              I stretch

                              my whole body

                              his way

                              When I was alive

                              God smashed his head

                              Into my gut all the time


                              the apoplexy came on

                              like a faucet

                              inside me

                              Now my stigmata

                              extend the length

                              of these plains

                              blood inside

                              and out

The Daily Art Source

Tim Van Dyke

 â€‹See Poets and Writers page for Biography


When I awake
from this life
a sainted man

will I remember
the dead inside

all these dead bodies
packed into my chest

the cowboys
on their horses
riding straight into me
the campesinos
plowing into me

During my captivity
it was rumored
among the faithful
that I and my companion
brought fish out of the river
where there were no fish

the parallels to other miracles
were seized upon
as if miracles
happen the same way

miraculous, the faithful said
it was a testament
to God's beneficence
and a testament
to me
and my companion
that we were
modern-day prophets
in the enemy's hands

but all I remember
is the pain in my back
the surgery left a scar
from my ass to my neck
hobbling along the mountain paths
at the behest of a gun's butt

I'd wake up
on the jungle floor
and me and my companion
ate whatever they gave us
that they stole
or took at gunpoint
from the campesinos
and the cowboys

After they shot me
I went on the hunt
for Death
with all the campesinos
all the cowboys

crowding my heart
ready to march out
to the astonishment
of the faithful

to take them back
to the place where God
fell down
God fell down
to the rock crags
and couldn't get up