Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Che in Bolivia

If I make it
out of
here, I must thank
Fidel for his
parting gift. A book
of poetry, by a Yanqui
yet, who set out
to write
something every day
even when it was hard
to find something
to write about. It's an
idea I've picked up
on. Am keeping a diary
although daily Bolivia is
the same old same old
unlike New York
where there are "so many
things in the air!" Here
there are only mosquitoes
& the mutterings of
peasants intimidated by
our presence. They help us
because they are frightened
of us, & then send to tell
the army because they are
more frightened of
the soldiers. The Bolivian
Communist Party doesn't
want anything to do
with us. We are running out
of food, are running out of
time. "The only thing to do
is simply continue." The army
is in the next valley. It is
an inevitable confrontation.
I go forward to meet them,
a man with two hearts. The
one that beats still dreams
of revolution. The one that
weeps is in my pocket, it is
Lunch Poems by Frank O'Hara.

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