in the vaguely commercialized hot springs
of aguascalientes
tourist trap village 300 meters below
macchu picchu, miraculously practically 
useless spiritually spectacular
essential ancient abandoned scope of rays, city of lips
pointed sunwards, stones fit together tight like
people never seem to, not even a razor fits into
the gap,
fountains and chambers of unknown
purposes on a peak halfway up to the sun, peak among
half a dozen others, cloud forest
cloud mountains, playing pop inca music on cheapo
bamboo flutes, modulated by my own melodic
weirdness, while walking down trails carved from rock
perhaps a millenium ago, up steep inca steps, in and out of
tunnels, legs so tired walking's painful, so wonderful to
rest in these baths -- medicinal properties
alleged, i know one thing:

	HERE, right here, right now,
	sitting in the baths feeling
	the medicinal or not minerals soak into
	my bug-bitten burned honky skin,
	i am cured of all problems,
	physical and metaphysical, emotional and
	spiritual, beautiful and hideous, imaginary
	and actual

From this point on, I won't look any different,
I won't feel any different, I won't act any different 
		-- others won't notice any difference
		-- I won't notice any difference

	but the difference will be there underneath

				
		From now on I will be perfect!