I’m writing this as fast possible because
tendons from past epochs are wrapping
tightly around my brain muscle which makes
remembering difficult but I trust the flash
there you are even now dancing on diamonds
Northfaced in fleece And by you I mean every man
with cave in his blood There is no going back
Mr. Blister Feet and nylon Your weight shaving
cannot cut the fabric of time Our primitive up and up
in the age of escalators is but a summiting of the mind
no need to scrape buffalo from the rocks below
the rebate forbids alterations For all your beefcake
posing on pancake lookouts you’re still far from the edge
calculating the photo proof with zoom When your square-jawed
cousin and Zorba peered over unimaginable wealth pooled
in their soft machinery I have not been there yet I’ll admit:
falling is only fun when the stats pad from angry tones
into pillow talk and the mattress traces your trajectory
unlike a cannonball from a waterfall that was sanctioned
by a man who can still glide through water without a splash.
LOCATION: Lençois, Brazil – Written exhaustively in my notebook on night bus to Valença; Eric and I had just finished a three-day hike in the National Park Chapada Diamantina, which ended with me jumping 30-feet onto a rock at a swimming hole after our guide did the same.
