14 familiar summits

Your smile is a song I've always known,

 though I've heard it for the first time, today,

Somewhere in my stretching arteries,

       a shout,

                    a pounce,

                                   an "I've got you!"

Now, where did that come from?

      Some melody wrapped around my throat,

Choking on joy, the glow and blush

of cheeks raised. The notes easing aches,

And causing entirely different intestinal pains,

My toes tap the new heart rhythm...

I've seen glimmers in eyes,

     heard the stars and their high notes,  but there's 

Something like comfort in your gaze,

Like a song sung by our mother, like 

A song sung before the lapse in innocence,

And my instinctual reaction to hymns like that, is to shiver, to shudder, an attempt to contain,

Soon my lids  will close to your light, 

          but my soul will

             dance 

               uplifted 

        by your harmony. 

    

13 This is How We'll Pass

How will you find me

            my face buried in a sketch pad or

            furiously writing,

or me you, 

            your face buried in a book,

            somehow both smiling and crying?

My hair is short now, my piercings in some

            drawer somewhere...

and you'll be on a bad hair day,

           too busy running from project to project.

I'll be too lazy that day to try something new, 

and you'll be too caught up with friends to notice me.

I'll have stains on my pants that day, 

           and you'll be in your most intimidating outfit.

You'll be in a hilarious mood,

           I'll be consoling a friend.

I'll be wandering in Bolivia  and you'll be

         wandering in Bangladesh.            

You'll be thinking that I'm just some crazy guy staring, 

        and you'll hurry to get away

and I'll be staring just like some crazy guy, muttering 

        and wondering what to say

...that will make you want my name?

       
       

(12) Togetherness

She brought in the                

cold with her,     and             

we all shivered, 

She in relief,                             

and we in our bitterness

11

Comforting,          thats what she said,

when I had said I was annoying.

                  to be comforting,

                  what a blessed position,       

                  to be somebody's pillow,

                  their chocolate cake,

                  their chicken soup,

                          their background music

                      in line with their rhythm.

                      no ache in their stomach,

                           no longing in their diaphram,

                      no anxiety dreams in their sheets.

If I could be,               by just being

I'd enjoy that

                               probably more than they

                                            would.

10

There are thousands of us
Roaming
      The majority young
And dreadfully lonely
Looking for fulfillment
In the hollows, the cracks where the bricks
         have been warn by winds and passerbys fingertips.
The smoke of too many cigarettes,
The smells of too many sun embraced steps in the afternoon's sweat,
In the late to bed searches, for agreement in gestures, in eyes that say yes
while drinks put to rest, all thoughts that had festered, all thoughts of regret,
In moments of  pleasure what need of respect?
             What          need, to be known.

(9)

I wonder how long you´ve 
greeted the day with
fire breaths and stretch
pants.
     Looking out from the 
     ruined buildings like
          the Inca, the
            Gods over the 
                  city.
      Calling on whatever
      forces necessary
         to fill your
       blood with movement.
       In a place that 
       turns muscles to
         Stones.    and
         Stones to tourist
         attractions.

                Everything
          about you stands
            out in this  
                          landscape
             a flower amongst
the 
    rubble,
            movement
                    amongst
             the packed
                    Earth.
             And though each
               gesture seems
             in synchronicity,
       choreographed
                   dancing,
 y0ur socks 4re
        D1fferent col0rs

   Yogic Madness

(8)

This I pray, 

Plant me, allow me to grow
my roots and        branches,    flower
without the worry that
each petal will float
away on the winds of
time.

I'm trespassing
on someone else's
story, make me a
characte, please not the
villain, and if its to
be a good story let my
name and theirs, make
it to the last page.

I know I'm being 
shaped, a perfect fit
so there wont be need
for mortar, but I've
always been 
more comfortable in the
aisle seat, so if you set
me in some communal wall
give me space, a view
something I can reach for.

(7) Blame it on the A

Its the altitude they say...
which doesn´t excuse any other times,
but I'm worried about what I've been
saying in my sleep, or whether my
throat repeats the things you say in
my dreams, my throat is sore each
morning, and I wonder what kinds
of moans and screams I've been sleepily
imagining.
    The word choice is really the scariest
    thought, pet names, and secrets revealed
    while stealing happy hours.
    I've woken up exhausted. How much heavy
    petting, salty sweating, _______________,
    happily not bed wetting,
    but its happened to me before.
    I've never blamed it on the altitude,
Given full credit where credit is due,
though I probably wouldn´t say it to you,
I'm thinking it even now.
What else can I say
You've got a great...

6 a thank you letter

Dear Cuy,

You're not the ache in my back but it doesn't help that I need to breathe so heavy when I'm around you. This wasn't supposed to be a letter of complaint, I meant to compliment the company you invite, the destinations, countryside locations, the small town cuyerias that offer for half the price, a small bite.  I hope you're not suffering (esta sufriendo?) thick skinned was how I found you. All grit and teeth, bone and bite, I mean bones to bite... Did your mom always say you were too skinny? Anyway I wanted to thank you for the traditional treat. You make a fine almuerzo. 

Muchas gracias 

Mike

5

I breathe in,

human sorrow,

mold and shape,             

              create something

interesting, even

breath taking,

exhale it into

                  the smoke and

let it fill you, 

heal you, 

that is               

              ...what is.

4 Whats in a Mind?

I met a woman once who lost her mind on pills meant to protect her from a worse fate.

Talking to herself, being afraid of everything, 

not knowing up from down, Husband from attacker, contentment 

from sickness, her own thoughts from elsewhere...

She wondered out loud at this "worse fate" and stopped swallowing, 

until the fever dreams went away.

I met a woman who gave up her free reign, confined to a prayer room, till days were not days, and later they took her voice, until thoughts were not thoughts, and then self... not... so... much...

Somewhere someplace if places are places, 

her husband and children awaited.

but when the day came that she could 

regain, what attachments remained?

I met a woman once who lived in a cell, her mind fully free but her body belonged to someone else.

a battle 

in every second awake or sleep, of torment repeated, and yearning.

...but where is it coming from?

Parasitic desire (3)

Would you take me into you, in the context of you, the whole of you, on your lips, your eye lids, let me be the syrupy sweet, with no retreat, cut me into your wood work designs, reflect me in your eyes, paint me in coffee, whisper my name in your meditations, stitch me in the tears, cry me out in your tears,  carve me in your legs, cough me out in your aches, breathe me in through your laughs, sing me out in your songs, play me into your rhythms, tap me into your tickles, allow me some space, indulge in me like chocolate or cerveza, blush with me, become flush with me, my probing fingers your body wracked shivers, massage me into your muscles, and expel me in sweet saltiness, allow your organs to shift, your heart to rip, just a bit, incorporate me into the platelets healing, salve of me, show of me, paint your finger tips and toes with me, hear me, scream me, allow your soul to drink of me, and I will be, your constant blanket, a presence in the silence.

2 (repeating)

Beautiful,

||: eyes and teeth

    lips and cheeks

    curves and angles

    All fading 

   into 

      Beautiful :| |

1

Sometimes doors should slam shut,

because the wind is cold, the voices

piercing, the light of day too inviting.

You told me to get ear plugs and an eye mask.

I told you that'd drive me crazy.

You called me special.

Sometimes doors should stay ajar. Items

forgotten, messages with gifts
to open, questions concerning futures.

You said goodbye the first and second time full of sarcasm,

I was just happy to see you again.

The third time you hugged me, 

I told you, you were special. 

Enduring the Duration

How to make a special place, to make a welcoming home, a place of rest, a place of excitement, a place of understanding.

Written on the walls are the words you've shared, but not yet enough
to cover these walls, and I'm still not sure the colors suit you.
And framed for reference and entertainment a collection of your faces,
some so comforting and some so blatantly alien...
How to make them fit this room of ours?
I would always have comfort food for you on the table, but I don't yet know your junk food of choice, or what makes you feel balanced when you've been indulgent.
I'd want to be indulgent
with the space though tasteful, but I don't know yet what words I could bouquet for you
to please your heart,
or what textures to wrap the room in, to always leave you tingling.
I could love you, adore you, give you comfort and pleasure,
but not without time to read your books and
beauty spots.

Saturday

I've been trying to rationalize the

Various pulls in my life, ahora.

The looks that say "come talk to me"

The looks that say "go away"

     Pulls and pushes dependent on

     The wind, and electronic

     Devices, and schedules.

The conflict specialist says you prepare

Various aspects of yourself, you put them on,

And learn to balance the compartmentalizing

So that it all feels real, natural, normal

And it all is, though you are not.

I am drifting, floating more like, the clouds

Are various friendly faces, places of ease,

Normality cushions, and that wind oh how it blows 

But so slowly

How am I to know if no one points out the direction. I miss,

And wonder if I am missed,

Amiss, scattered amongst the misses,

The would be, the could be but

You'd have to ask

Miss, will you be mine?

Progress

They had trained since childhood
in games, sandcastles,
toy towers
the teambuilding to
make walls of themselves
netted together, these rocks
packed densely, to forestall,
the last peacekeepers,
guards without gates.

The experts said it was
coming, without pity, swallowing
whole, progress for the one,
the incorporation of all others,
approaching, testing the cracks,
the holes, determined to
fill "vacant" spaces,
the mountain, would ruin
us.

and then came the day
when they pulverized
us to shreds,
a thousand of us
merged with a thousand
of them,
and the cement mixers
said we served the
greater good
in their desperate attempt
to contain the spread.

but it wasn't long till the
latest measure couldnt
hold them back,
so the bombardiers were
called to cull
and the hardest
straightest edges of us (and them)
and the veins and arteries
deeply hidden,
and the humming vibrations,
 the songs we sang,
the soft and smooth curves
of us became so bomb ridden
until nothing but
dust was left of
them and us,
and the experts sat
back and proclaimed
it progress,
and named us heroes for our sacrifice
and said the blood would one day
run clear again, all the way to the sea.

Cuenca dear, a question

Cuenca Dear, A Question

In a hundred hours not once 

did I feel unsafe, or unwelcome 

familiar streets, even when

even in the moments I was lost.

Lost but welcome.

A lit up church, foundations and towers

                 Highlighting what has                been and what could be.

Your street sweepers come out while the band is still playing,

and in our listening to he heavens

we turn around to find

cleanliness     in     the

cleanliness of your brickwork

the curved lines of your stonework 

-you never quite understood the culture which birthed you.

In 6000 minutes 

I indulged in,

Every aspect of your kitchen

With eyes, and smiles, and a tummy that grumbled - I sampled,

And sampled also your

Artwork, the museos

Of a thousand years

The museos of ayer

Sometimes your sculptures

Weren't yet standing,

But I recognized the shape

Of what's to come.

Your center boasts

A pledge to preserve

You for all humanity -but

In all the love you gave me

None came with a touch

How can I help preserve you

If you won't share with me a partner?

Welcome,

but lost.

20/30

Of all the things I've seen,
nothing more beautiful, than the galaxies
of stars on the mountains of Medellin,
and though I knew it to be a dream, squinting just right, I could see
the constellation of your hand in mine.

A place to put my thoughts

Poems. Stories. Musings. Etc.