Panama // The Waterfall in la Chorerra
PARTYDOLL ALMANAC
It's dark now and you didn't bring a sweatshirt.
They brought tents and you don't even have a sweatshirt.
The DJ with the jail cell key tucked way up in his dreads had said,
I saw his set right after mine man he ripped off my sound.
He said, Oh yeah I know the waterfall.
When we used to throw parties there man we would rage it out for a couple of days.
But it didn't mean what it means to you then to you now that it's dark and you don't have a sweatshirt.
It didn't mean to you then what it means when its dark and you don't have a tent.
A taxi
a bus ride
a walk down the highway
a prearranged meetup
a grocery store quickly
a green haired and beer handed tattooed profanities
knee socks athletic shorts pinup Italian girl
drinking a beer can while driving a four by four
lap sitting
pack fitting
slam slam slam
door door door
speeding and splashing
saluting and laughing
impossible rivers between sloping slivers of dusty black pathways through mountainous greens
that's what the city and you have between.
The city's bright darkness
from inside a closet
unloaded your sweatshirt and swapped a new outfit
you stuffed in your bag what you're wearing right now . . .
In a flat little square under mouthwash and trash:
Still intact
super short
sandy black
spandex dress.
Shake it out
put it on
brush it off
pull it down.
Of a black fabric graphic with letters bright white
in the glen of a forest with blacklights for sight,
your dress is more useful than all of the tents after
rinsing the liquid to clean out the bottom and drinking it straight from the vial.
Digesting a fistful of dark bitter crystals it's better to have than a sweatshirt.
Cheekbone stripes in blacklight paint-
For all you know you got it straight.
Barefoot blackly grass.
The infamy of waterfall sought hotly is invisible.
The height as yet unknown.
The sun as yet unshone.
Closely loudly passes through infinity of blackness
to the glimmer at the basin of your rocky edge adjacent.
Two slabs of wood would two men each are stacked on top, lay flat across,
make urbanesque-design-aesthetic tree-trunk coffee tables.
Preexisting, hint that supernatural only able.
Six things that are weird enough are:
darkness
running water
moonlight
giant insects
wind in leaves
friends speaking foreign languages
It's too late to count forward because what's gone is gone
It's too late to count backward because we never measured
You can never know the truth because I have to tell it to you
You can never know what's true unless it's known by only you