dedicated to Corpses, the beginning of Ascent

They are dreaming…
in the gardens of Everest, their skulls are hatching sleeping worlds
the corpses lined up in a white mare…
in the white gardens frozen fingers are cultivated.

A catamaran of cadavers might make a voyage
looking into my fluorescent boots
at the foot of the mountain I am driven by fire
the Titans’ sons and daughters
at the foot of the mountain they were also
driven by fire
there, where Earth is again in limbo
there are no more rewards for them

Corpses they are, still ravishing
and they never die!
frost – nightingales, closed breath, hands placed on stomachs
those corpses are beautiful
musical, marching Everest troops
singing together:

“When all the doors are barricaded
I still have my mountain to climb
behold! I am at the top
this is my fate, to set backfires to Gods!
Beware,Sagarmatha, beware!”

Alas, I see now, they are all rather, rather…

I continue my ascent
towards the top temporally displaced
where it’s difficult both for Man and Bird,
to the white Hell that I alone have chosen.
being complacent in my air

Yodel-Ay-Ee-Ooo! Gods, do you envy me?
Like Moses, He leads me
Through the mountain glasses

I ‘m a rock in the wind
I’m a tearin the eye
I’m a warm lie
embracing my dried up bones
my lips are kissing the ice
I’m going through the cumuli
under the savage sky
The Snow made the mask for me, I cannot breathe..
and my fate was turned into the Mountain’s

you’ll be pulling me up with your rope
I believe in you
I believe in your opal skyward peaks
Then what is Everest?
God’s temple of Dune
The face of fear
An insane passion for freedom.
Vigilance that tries to trick a dream?
hold you!
hang up!
Loosen it now!
Get the axe!

Thus, because we could not forgive
ourselves …nor them,
We’ll weep for a toy long-forgotten

All eyes on the axe!
My axe cuts up the Dress meant for my soul

I am stabbing…
Two heads, stubborn and dangerous…
A Weapon!
Break me and I will break you!
Oh, stone, thou art bleeding!
As am I!
I cannot give this climb up to you now, Pater meus
Because I tasted blood
Until I reconnect our hearts at the top, The Pathfinder,

I am receiving you.
Broken mirror, I love our shards painted blue,
I am receiving you
I will weep in fear, even victorious, that
I’ll have no more tears to shed.


Edmund Hillary Canvas Print / Canvas Art by Guillermo Contreras


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