posted on October 19, 2007 at 7:33 am

the day after erskine died
daddy ganymedes and roland vocoder
were loitering with intent to loiter
the missiles aimed at the west were gently humming
the endless day of man was ending
the evening would bring bats and gliding rodents
the vegetation was poised to breakthrough
the moon seemed impossibly large
the magic realist was writing a book
in his book
he resurrects erskine from the dead
and has him upon some weird adventures
spooky stuff best half forgotten
some fucked up olde wizard
a recreational necromancer
some beachside shaman with gold top mojo
some washed up bottled up energetic calamity
erskine in buenos aires and montevideo and sao paulo
oh erskine snort that pure 5 buck a gram coke
oh erskine sort out the orphans surrounding you everywhere
oh erskine visit ipanema and see the lovely girls
oh erskine fall in love with an incan princess
oh erskine lost in the andes 5 miles high
oh erskine meet the magic realist in his garden apartment
hes writing it all down
hes getting it all down
attended by five young graces
his lemurian crystal in a pocket over his heart
his melodic voice he speaks perfect english
conesuela cooking in the kitchen
cooking up a storm
the magic realist such a host of hosts
offers you tapas erskine
offers you wine
offers you time
offers you a line
and another line on the next page
when people read about you in spanish
when people see your handsome face in print
do i really have to die erskine asks
and daddy ganymedes laughed out loud
englishman he said
are you fuckinga kidding me?
and roland vocoder said ahh……..
and the magic realist who was writing this story
looked up at his characters in wonder
for truly they were there in magic reality
and the wind blew
and the apartment was filled with the scent of jasmine
and all tiny things jingled in their places
the frogmask licked its lips
oh horror the frog has sharp white little teeth
erskine reaches up to touch it
and the amphibious monstrosity bites
you fool says the magic realist
conesuela come here he calls
conesuela the most beautiful woman on earth
blonde haired darkskinned browneyed
a palomino of a woman
her breasts are shaped like abundance
her mouth is generous
her waist is curved like an expensive guitar
her teeth are ivory oblongs gleaming
her eyes are the history of love
her hands are like graceful herons
her ears are tiny and faerylike
her forehead is slightly frowning
her eyes are slightly narrowed
her neck is graceful long swanlike
her shoulders are straight
her thighs are voluptuous
her calves are milkfed
her ankles are slender and tenderly arrayed
her feet are brown and broad
her toenails are bloodred
her stomach is flat like a great plain
her ribs encage her beating heart
her mind is quiet
her mind is deep
it remembers for thousand years
it remembers in and out of lifes lives
its constant
her voice is soft husky
her words are well chosen
her winged words fly into any hearts now
her mornings in the ocean
her mornings in the oceans bed
her tea she sips in mint condition
she bathes in a lagoon with the fish
she gently handles the curious snakes
she touches them so gently so humanly
she touches the snakes with their patterns
she lets them smell her skin
she submits to their trespasses
she rolls over in black satin water
down by the holiday houses quiet in this season
she holds her breath
and spits out the surrounding sea
she is there right now
go there
go to her
go erskine
go magic realist
go the cats
go the rats
go the mountains
go the sun and moon
go to her
go to her

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