If you play bass long enough
You give up your fingerprints
To the instrument
Your whorls
Become the wood’s.

Imagine walking
On your bare hands
For fifty years,
Several hours every day
Over the same terrain,
Each time a different way.
It mus’ be
sumpin’ like dat,
With only the memory
Of fret-free explorations
Your mind’s copurse charts
For a map.


shoeshine rag snaps
sharp as gunshots
startle pigeons
whose wing flaps echo
raising dust
and flashing beads of light
from fountain’s flow
in their flight.

Michele Gibbs

Michele Gibbs has lived in Oaxaca for the past 18 years and works as a writer, performance artist, painter and sculptor.

See: http://www.realoaxaca.com/from-the-field/winter2005.html

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s