Sumaq Yawar

just a moment of fear
what it lasted for the needle to pierce
cold. sterile.

life spurts out. strong.
painting trees in the sand
red fruit’s never been riper

pachamama,
wasiman kuti muni

double-digit meters above ground
and there are no more handles
greet death once again
rip through myself some more

new summer tattoos

a tribute to the apus
let the earth drink
don’t forget me
apu qocha wauqimanta

feel it leaving
the empty vein, less than royal
sinews turning to glass

they take it away
no longer a part of me
though red it was

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