The robed and turbaned guides lead us
Station to pillar to post
Here the last puddle of sacred blood outlined in platinum,
There the stray knotted whipstroke picked out on the
Mudstone wall in jasper and rarest peridotites
- Change yer shoes for the final hill to the death sanctum,
Last sonatina set to begin, with eye max.
But, but here monsignor, what’s this minor
Scatter of comic beaks ‘n bones off to the side in shadow,
This fouled corner irrigated by ninety-nine generations of
Three faiths and their pets?

- Pay no ear, it’s got no voice or at most
The scalded steamkettle hiss of a dying gull,
Was never no human language
Nor saw anything really seen
And those what claim to have dug up gored pieces of value
From under there just kissed the *** of madness.

Dreaming of the never mind
--the burden of proof my thoughts struggle
over if it was even such a thought.

It's in my nature
--the uncertainty
--the clutter of an empty space begging
for stronger remembrance:

like signal to noise.

Even in the harsh light
it casts unknown shadows

causing me to turn to something more tangible
--people, places, and things:

the ones I can criticize
or stylize, hold in my hand,
crush with my fist, kiss with my lips
--honing it down until a kernel
of something remotely mine.

Then I smile
at being a tourist in my own mind:

Paris syndrome: litmus test:
that disconnect between fantasy and reality,
fragment and rumination

--It's right there now
on the tip of my tongue.

Tourists are sniffing

the holiness of the church –


they make it thinner.

A beautiful sun shines through a palm's canopy
And casts a shadow over your beach retreat.
Sitting in a lounge chair with a rumrunner in hand,
It's easy to pretend people don't get murdered here.

Now it's nighttime and the city shines alive with neon
As countless youth hop from club to club looking for fun.
Walking down the boulevard while you take in the sights,
It's easy to forget the projects you passed to get here.

The next morning starts with a hefty hangover
And ends with a delicious bandeja paisa.
You've never had such exotically good food in your life,
Yet it's easy to ignore the famished begging on the streets here.

So the next time you visit
And feel all of your problems leave you,
Remember that your tourist dollars help keep our paradise
One fit for a fool.

In the evening, the river is a theater
the water carries the music
to our ears, the romance

of a saxophone, sunset
twinkling in the wine and the church
rosy, completely gentle grace

Tourists pretend click clack
that not they, but we, are the extras
and the city were a cardboard set:

theme park Paris l'amour
young people on the quays around
a pillar candle and kissing

couples as it should be
in the sunthrowers of the tourist vessels
gleam the spots in the corners

that you can smell

Cordoba is home to the largest mosque in the world,
The Mezquita's architectural splendour is a stunning monument to behold,
It is a confluence of Jewish, Islamic and Christian trinity,
Whose influence through the ages will stretch to eternity

Swarming with tourists be it individuals or groups,
Who throng the roads through which they incessantly troop,
The multi-cultural mix is what makes the sight so appealing,
One cannot but experience the inescapable joyful feeling

As one saunters through the must- visit touristic Jewish Quarter,
The innumerable winding lanes and by-lanes really do not matter,
Rows and rows of shops have a wide range of offerings,
All that one needs to do is spend without bothering

It's a gourmet's delight at restaurants when it comes to variety,
One needs to go through the menu card in it's entirety,
The trick is to experiment with different types of food,
Hopping in and out of eateries makes you feel so good

The sweltering heat does little to dampen the enthusiasm,
People go about their work with no less dynamism,
The famed Spanish siesta can still be seen at play,
With shuttering of shops and offices just past mid-day

With tourism a major factor contributing to the economy,
It is important to underscore the need to live in harmony,
This trait among people is so blatantly on display,
An ingrained culture preserved till this very day

Matchsticks used and burned to black
Stand amid their brethren tall
Through Mount and Vale
Their limbs compete
To reach into Heaven's seat

Merced flows and bubbles past
Bird and beast both heed the call
From Bridal Veil
Is river born
To reach for the Distant Shore

Stare in awe! El Capitan,
Mighty Chief, above them all
The peak unveils
Yosemite
In its natural majesty