- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Andes
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3/15/03
Ascending the teeming, often foul scented lower underworld depths of subway I sometimes hear beautiful music from the indigenous peoples of the Andes Mountains of South America. Assortments of wooden instruments waft though the station like a frosty breeze blowing in from these ancient mountains where the air is thin and pure. Entranced I stand, and think of a place I’ve only read about. What it might be like in such a place. I envision these musicians, maybe riding the back of pack donkeys down the misty mountain peak playing this music from their hearts. What a simple life they might’ve lead before coming to this developed country that’s so complex to live and survive in. Naïve as I might sound.
The squeaky loud noise of an incoming train, invades my thoughts. It’s time to go. Keep moving always forward.
