symphony hall, hellebore, symposia

Heather Lowe, Landscape, drawing (2009)

symphony hall

The Christus of Guadalajara
cannot wake nor sleep.
The angels hover above Him
to catch His fluttering speech.

Tennessee Williams

the allurements of a hall of mirrors
transparently real
on a mission of love to the Congo
for Dutch chocolates
and crisps in a packet
birds peck at intelligent birds


The Christus of Guadalajara
turns in His salted sheet.
Into His palms are driven
the nails and into His feet.

we are all alone unto now
and that means out of doors
painted from a corner as it were
nowise into one that’s a gag
we would have for a plaything
a joujou or a gewgaw
something to hold up to the light
and squint through



a certain professional obligation
they say the sounded reeds
in the swamp at cowtime
mooing and chewing
I should lend myself to this



say cheese it is the Master
come to regale it is the Last Supper
behind locked folded doors
and what is up in Jerusalem
on such a day as this here
why the sky and have you heard
the one about dear Moses eh

Christopher Mulrooney is the author of toy balloons (Another New Calligraphy) and Rimbaud (Finishing Line Press). His work has recently appeared in Glasgow Review of Books, London Grip, and Poetry Ireland Review.


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