Alone again, perhaps
lonely buoy in the open ocean
single penguin, king of its Antarctic shelve
once more I find myself, alone.
Like the only burnt light bulb in the stadium
or the single flashlight in the dark
the homeless beggar’s submissive attitude
I’m here under my rock
with my friend solitude
While I pretend to be fishing for patience
in the rocks of the creek
hiding the pain in my heart
blinded by the smoke
of the fire of my guilt
Something has been taken from me
like an arm, or a lung
old smoker me
have always known
cancer not to be my doom
For my weakness is the heart
As I lay on an empty bed
in silence and alone
I can hear my soul tear
like the breaking of the Antarctic shelves.
I wake up, still dizzy
but don't dare open my eyes
not yet...
the procession of my senses slowly returns
and I can almost taste each and one of them coming back
I feel my skin on soft batik sheets
my nose breathes the sandalwood incense
"- is that Salif?" my brain questions...
As Master Keita sings Lony in the living room.
Ah, what a pleasure.
Everything else either hurts or is still numb
but now I know where I am and I open my eyes.
Again? Yes, again I passed out in Super Vero's house
my best friend, my sister, my guru, my semi-goddess.
(sometimes I miss you so much)
My head is pounding, I need a beer
Alpha Blondy means the morning coffee is ready
I reach for my cigarettes
light up a smoke
and turn to greet the girl (how names change in this house)
crazy enough to have followed me last night
she opens her eyes and smiles " - Hola" she says
that rum, that bong, that reggae band...
we just had a bit too much, didn't we?
I leave the bedroom half naked and head towards the kitchen...
Super Vero and the northern girl kiss me and hand me a cup of joe
" - You have no shame" they say, and then giggle
" - neither does the tequila ShotBong, for that matter" I reply
someone please kill me! These hangovers have to stop.
Hot morning coffee
the sun is out, palm trees dance, Salif sings
Miss XX Cancun shows up, then Romeo and Karla
The pool is inviting, blue, crystal and cool
the sun is shining, we bring our djembes by the pool
and make them sing for Keita, and the ShotBong goes around
"...por la derecha" (counter-clockwise)
until the afternoon approaches, and it's time to go home.
Those Sunday mornings in Tepoztlan,
after Xochitenco Saturday nights
I wake up in Super Vero's house
How I miss it
In the Seattleite melancholy
of those Mexican mornings
Only the Mansa of Mali remains
He moved into my ipod, from the living room
and this is what I think about
when Salif Keita sings for me
but then again, how would you know?
