saudade@worldnet.att.net 

Cochabamba Bolivia 1994

A vision filled 
with the cold and hot together of 
rawness and violence. 

the feeling of grit and dirt, between my teeth. 
that grit that sits upon windows, and unwashed curtains
the dirt that blows and chokes.

On Avenida Antezana 
hearing the writhing sounds of San Sebastian.
the pain of many men living and 
cooking in the halls

the stench of a place, so alien that it 
pierces my senses through all the noise of today.

The moon that sits over the Andean sky,
without sentiment
and worshipped still as deity.

so far from the fat and green lands. 
that brought me into this world.
what vexed previously does not seem to matter.

They pray and plead
God does not seem
to penetrate
the high depths.
the valley floor is silent
To their orations.

The dusk sits upon your teeth.
As the heat leaves the air 
Returning To darkness
and light aired coolness. 

Inca faces, burned 
Upon memory. 
Beneath the makeup
And cheap spandex
The Stench of the cheapest perfume. 

Piernas abiertas and young bodies
En venda para todos
Hearing the children, 
Born without the man who sired them
I turn away, into myself. 
			

Carrying my clothes to be washed
On San Sebastian Street.
I negotiate the price, with the Quechua lady
For a days work,  two dollars?

And I,  like Pizarro enjoy myself heartily. 
Slave labor is great
For my wallet. 
As it  has been always. 
			

an alien here, and yet part of the scene.
forgetting to be different from the world around. 
ideals discarded like garbage, still useable but unwanted. 

Idealism is buried beneath violence’s mountain 
And the pain becomes, like the dust between My teeth.

Dedicated to the men of the Carcel 
of San Sebastian Cochabamba Bolivia, By R. Bianchi 

© Copyright, 9/12/98, R. Bianchi.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.