Under the Volcano

by Malcolm Lowry

somewhere, out of the heavens, a swan, transfixed, plummeted to earth.

its rays picking out the timberline of Popocatepetl as its summit like a gigantic surfacing whale shouldered out of the clouds again, all this could not lift his spirit.

turning the scarlet flowers along the path into flaming swords.

Even almost bad poetry is better than life,

What is man but a little soul holding up a corpse?

Mescal tears came to the Consul’s eyes,