Lalo

It was a lurid night, and a panther of a
Man from the Andes crept by the door,
Spreading enchantments.
The steam of a rain forest millennia past
Was in his wavy serpentine locks,
While the evocative plaint of a Pipe
Pan played on the sound synthesizer.
He told me never to forget who I had been,
A jungle queen left outside a cave
where the entire village perished within
while I had, luckily stepped out
For a whiff of fresh sultry air.
The cave stank of mold and mildew.
(Even then, I had these prophetic gifts)
It was there, at age 12, that I was consoled
by some Obe1Kenobe, becoming a bride forever.
Lalo urged me to return someday to
His Peruvian village to find him, “for I am the
Gatekeeper” he boasted, “the one who knows”.
The gate to the seventh subterranean chamber lay there,
Within a lost Andes village where pagans still
Whore and avoid gringos.
No light ever reaches there.
He told me I should return someday,
To be truly happy.
That led spirits back to six million years ago when.
The Mayan Pandavas led by Gabriel invaded.
So, there had been a division by landslide and
for countless seasons I wandered.
Through vacant  streets near the Piranha River watershed,
Jalopies on my feet, tent on my back with the old man.
Lalo, claims to be my Dad’s spirit freed,
Now tempts me to go south,
to enjoy simplicity again.
In fecund revelries and couplings
But to date, no.
For, as promised long ago,
I am still wed to some strange nomad angel
growing in wisdom along the narrow path
which winds its mountainous way
 toward God and Heaven for me.