top of page
Image by Anton Maksimov juvnsky


the madrigal, volume iii

Ballad of St. Drogo the Ugly

by kyle vaughn

My being is a ruin of light,
eyes too deep, in a foxden’s dark,

eyes held in black habitat,
born from a shineless mine.

Body hewn out of thorn and mulberry,

body nourished in a bog.
Head of dead and damned,
pacing a strangled gait.

Even dressed in a wreath of olive leaves,

my journey is a stone boat in snow.
I am anointed by a moonless wood

where I survived on water and Eucharist.

Here, I double my hideous form,
appearing at both Mass and in the beanfields.

In another world, my name is being spoken,

right-looking faces are waiting.

At the gate, I release my illness as a sapphire burst,

set the burden of my name between two pages.
I recite the words as scripture of new bones,
glory, glory, glory be.

Kyle Vaughn is the author of Lightning Paths: 75 Poetry Writing Exercises and the co-author/co-photographer of A New Light in Kalighat.

twitter: @krv75

insta:  @kylev75


bottom of page