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THROWING SKIN incarnate with pores opened from heat and closed with cold over and over unto themselves. add a touch of mint and liberation. all is liberation in these orange trees and sugar cane keepin' me company. eucalyptus keepin' me clear sucking all water up from neighbours and spraying clarity up me blossoming nose. if i could paint i would paint the scene, picturesque as any ass. i sit in blessed hammock atop blessed motherhill and dirty up the pages with sweet skin sniffing at the dog world. i say a prayer for love and rejuvenation and throw my skin into the wind over Vilcabamba and the valley therein. the last stronghold of Inca with my shards traveling over Andes downwind into Peru where they rest with the Nazca sand mummies. then gone eastward as offerings to original African souls trapped in mass Bolivian graves. digo una oración por el amor y el rejuvenecimiento y tiro mi piel al viento. las piezas viajan encima de los Andes y siguen por Colombia, El Caribe, Mexico hasta Canada. te tocan las mejillas. i take in a solid meditation and retire to the dictionary of my wasted youth. there's nothing there. such was the painting of the brown-haired white girl sitting pretty in Muladhara pose striking nonsense with closed lips. i missed this vibe. it took a valley to pull it out of me and the solitude of afternoon to let it flourish. the roundness of me visible only as sun on the horizon, gone before i'm ever really known. yo sueño en una meditación sólida y me retiro al diccionario de mi juventud gastada. no hay nada por aca, sólo una mujer mezclada asumiendo tonterías con sus labios cerradas. extrañé esta vibración. tomó un valle para sacarla de mi y la soledad de la tarde andina para dejarla florecer. la redondez de mi, visible solamente como el sol al horizonte. perdida antes que yo sea realmente conocida.  |
 existing in all worlds literary and figurative
where my rosary beads of sweat are just that- accountable solitude suits me fine as quiet water my sister is asleep and clouds veil a kiss of sun. to be wrapped in sweat and solitude is seldom worshipped shall i have peace, or sainthood the sun tells me its ok to bathe there is enough water in this cloud for all, i see it Vilcabamba, Ecuador 10/97 |
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