maybe it's selfish to say I'm
not strong without you around.
that the entire house burned down
and you make me wonder how much I want you
or just need you for shade.
who knows what love is anyway.
when lying alone in the ashes the
sun stings my eyes and burns my face.
I don't know what I want from you
but it's not to take from you, it's how
when you're around there's somehow more of me.
so when I say it'll be better when you get here I mean
this ground lay fallow, but maybe we won't build a house this time..
maybe a tree.
maybe these ashes could nourish a seed.
from a few weeks ago
what I was trying to say a month ago
that Lima of six million citizens is interest worthy uniquely for
it is (I have travelled significantly and) maybe yes likely the only city I've known
raised completely on a foundation of sand and
god, does it draw the mind to find something so much built
from grey-brown particles dust and quite really dirt look
beneath three cathedrals no joke it's
formica silica a bit of gypsum maybe.
regardless an earthquaking silty stiffness lies below.
and yes maybe I've been forced to love this city because
for whatever reason in my capacity made bad choices and I
have— no, have been made to
come to this city as the only enclave
the FBI won't pull me from.
but regardless I once said four years ago that I could
learn to love anyone, given the
willpower faith and motivation and
******* already I may love this
city I may love the way it always fog and evening rains but
the precocious days when sunshine comes are
unexpectedly– even possibly–
brighter than the days once were in Santa Fe.
Because the world has her Paris and her Seinne, her
London, and her Thames,
New Amsterdam and old and Guineas new (and both) but when
You put a cornerstone down on lowliest ground, stack stones there only trying to–
one must respect a faith in what
shouldn't ever have happened.
Because Lima in growing to love and love can
Bring up tears but maybe you
start to glimpse at the heart of someone, after these years see that
Babylon dried the Tigris and
Shanghai may as well be the Yangzee but
Lima is a
peasant town, built from nothing,
while human we
cart in over tonnage vegetables and quartered meat
to eat, and eat– we
need to live to live we eat...
and from the Mirador De San Cristobal a striking view of where we sleep:
Lima six million bodies row on row.
What was once desert here we will decompose
and with craven frames prompt trees to grow.
There is more soil here than ever in
the geologic predestiny of the place and
Hell it could be three years even before
the Holy Bomb does come to
wipe clean leave stones of the
"human race" but this–
this city will do what cities do chew
up our radiated bodies all
criminal convictions forgiven each
soul I guess heaven, revelations, to
start a new.
This city is a desert I choose to live here
because when I die these trees will
(having no choice)
Exhume my body these
trees will grow where trees don't go and
from my remains make soil make
sand make earth make
If I must die childless I
can at least saturate the sand
in Lima, can at least,
serve conduit for something new.
— The End —