There’s been a marimba band playing at the municipalidad
in celebration of the new Calde; the horns, the whole band,
sound as if they’re coming off tape at variable speed; kind of woozy
and wistful. Often, marimba gives me the feeling i’m at a whimsical fiesta
warbling away as the world ends– “There is not a thing anyone can do,”
the music seems to say. This is punctuated, in the most extreme sense,
by huge heart shaking explosions. The sun’s presence presses down
on all of this as we slip into the afternoon, as this planet spins within its
own wobbly orbit, one piece in the cosmic marimba band that plays
as an eternity of eternities converge.
not here, but here
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