Neon Boy Escapes the Internet to Explore Machu Picchu
Today I learned how to jungle walk while chucking clouds
from cliff sides & ruins aren't really ruined
if they don't tilt into the earth because I've wandered
miles to carry them & I've chased falling
stars across the dark as if they won't crash my head &
when I woke up I smelled coca leaves & dirt
in my lungs & the mist has swallowed every path
behind me & in front there is wild
bamboo growing & I’ve seen how grass
can be used to build bridges with nothing
more than fingers & knees because if you twist anything
tight enough it might hold you up & if you look deeper
into water you might see cosmos
pooling constellations & a city forming
from the sweet mud around you & this morning
I tasted altitude on my tongue & this is not a metaphor
because I felt the highest forest take root in me & I rock-
stepped across a ruthless road for days & I didn't
understand how these mountains were a myth until I lost
my torso at the summit & held breathing
close to my ribs like I never wanted to leave my flesh &
have you ever wanted to cling to the fabrics at the bottom
of your comfort & not let go & never forget
about the river & never forget about the distance & trust
your elevation like snow whispering from above.
Late Night as Neon Boy
While everyone slept, I’d watch the skulls
of idols scrape a muted sky. I’m talking
NBA Jam—Latrell Sprewell and Chris Webber
as digital duo. I’m speaking post-Christmas
boyhood tongue, video game cartridge
secrets. Sophomore year: I started
pinning muscle car posters next to Tyra Banks
in her polka dot bikini. Relaxation suddenly
became a synonym for self-touching. How
the first time a friend of a friend came over she laid
wordlessly across my bed. How the language
of knowing escaped me and emptied
my insides. How I wasn’t sure
where to go but I went. Back when I would draw
in the margins of random notes. Back when I failed
and was failed. Because I’ve never been fast
at learning. Because I was only good at sitting back
to watch players like Shawn Kemp climb impossible
pyramids of air to touch rims. Because
in those years, everything was and wasn’t
some game. Because I scored and I didn’t.
Because I’m still learning how to play, how to miss.
Alan Chazaro is a high school teacher at the Oakland School for the Arts. His first poetry collection, This Is Not a Frank Ocean Cover Album, was winner of the 2018 Black River Chapbook Competition and his second, Piñata Theory, was awarded the 2018 Hudson Prize. They are both forthcoming with Black Lawrence Press. Available at https://www.blacklawrence.com/this-is-not-a-frank-ocean-cover-album
Photo on Foter.com