partas de bolvia

sinking into sunshine hammocks, music sounding softly through my cocoon, escaping the shanty stretch of sand and boats bustling, blocking our entry to the calm waters of lake titicaca...
sputtering slowly by archipelagos of ancients, believed to be the origin of sun and moon and stars, whose heavenly bodies gave birth to all living beings...
isla del sol, a stairway to heaven where donkeys serve as vehicles to ascension and llamas descended sporadically spitting...
shivering on stones to watch a sun that never set but sank into a bank of cloud cover, casting shadows across the bruised landscape...
sailing back on the bow of the boat, past dragon tail mountains and lone trees...
a road of rain to la paz, leaking buses, leaching in, locals falling asleep in isles, floating backwards on barges,arriving into a canyon of crystal lights, drowning the night dancing irish jigs, flips, gliders, suspended motion...
sudden downpours and spoiled church chicken, smiling into shared milkshakes...
brujas whispering incantations, directions demanded of rattle snake shakes and herbal remedies to preserve and protect, trying not to make contact with hollow eyes of burned bodies and skins of souls...
maneuvering through market stalls, pumping, purifying and peeling to give gracias and tradition to a troupe of irish potato eaters...
handmade turkeys and hedonistic headdresses, toppling totem poles, circled gracefully...
a drunken dash to the wrong bus, passengers peering warning peligroso, the ayudante casting us out into the rain to search for safer slumber...
dawn ripens on peach mountains, while white cristo towers upon the crescent moon...
crayon colored parks match cinnamon sorbet, tracing palace paths through forebidden rooms...
a basketball player with nike swoosh tatoo, numero 69, aged accordingly, blockheaded blundering but our superstar scaling him to reach the rim...
white russians mixing with coca quid, tongue in cheek, dancing til dawn in high school circles to block potential prospects and
predators...
a woman on the sidewalk nursing her baby bundle bares breasts in slumped slumber...
conchas collection of synesthetic energy, women in white spring hats and velvet pleaded skirts gathered eagerly around innovations, pouring through piles of panties, plastic doll shoes, pastries, asking to try on a t shirt, translating into taking advantage of the manikin, meat melting red streams of sidewalk, spit settling onto clothes, clinging unbeknownst, a boy asking for help to say "i´m thinking of you" to a girl of unknown origins...
tea and tasties in a room with straw hats hiding light bulbs...
desert dissolving into clouds, creeping in rifts of ridges, greenery as silt settling among dew drop bird nests, hiding behind eyes winced shut from bolivian belly aches...
a giant swing with women soaring, an old one stumbling to dance between kisses and cries, the music moaning invading tranquil tree house...
wading in the shallow waterholes, scrambling up sandstone perches, painting paz with red rock, watching cutter ants move mechanically...
monkeys on manos scrambling over their human counterparts, the tiger escapes and the ice cream boy laughs at danger...
a doctor declares me perfecto as i announce sickly symptoms and liquid mierda in contaminated cups, then announces my fate, amoebas...
fiona painting roses on walls while we talk of things to come...
slender mine shafts swallow the last speck of sun, breaths choked with dirt, sweat streams like tears in the silver potosi where dynamite comes earlier than cigarettes and kills quicker...
stretches of salt flat, hexagons sealing the surface, white light as far as the eye can sea melts into an oscillating horizon of projected sky pools and ink blot mountains...
an island of cacti rises from the midst, grey hairs revealing untold wisdom, their postures frozen from dancing in the darkness...
flamingos frolic across a placid pond, where desert foxes prowl grass gathered into groups like an army hedgehogs...
rainbow eucalyptus mountains, peeling pastels, whose twins are trapped by liquid mirrors...
swirling snow settles among the salt flakes as we bounce over boulders in a jeep driven by a deaf mute gnome whose smile describes it all...