Missin' mountains to la playa
when everything's long-haired tight and orange with elevators only goin' to every several floors,
Inkan crop circles abound 'round altiplano nopales
winter silence screams hushed with the sound of waterways
mist it's streaming
over my hair in high sun
steaming,
dancing til 6:30 a.m sunrises,
Boulder seams masks music magic surprises
quinhoa lisas calabaza maiz grow heavenly,
blue eyed pigeons side-ball me suspiciously,
picaflores condores connecting god and (hu)man
masked men run me through fire and put me down again
little boys duck hiding behind my legs from whips
while reggaeton and Shakira run off my lips,
breath-keeping altitude scenes with che selling everything,
crazy Violeta Luna plunges nails into cow hearts, bites down in the name of Frida's art,
sacras quake at Virgin dolls in green petticoat layers,
an entire country of knitters and weavers and titeres makers,
and it is fuckin freezin in July and
I am holding everyone's hand and kissing your cheeks right and left hello and goodbye.
Les quiero Ericka, Jacki, Jorge, Doris, Mauricio, Gabby, y mi little tiny tattooista-piercer chiquillo. Una locura completa era en 2006.
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