Che Guevara’s Bequest: Vallegrande, Bolivia, 1967
A tinny mambo is piped from the room
spewing
sick yellow-green fluorescence.
The radiator squeals,
brass electrodes buzz;
blood-crusted, unnoticed,
Che Guevara’s finger lies
in a dusty corner
covered with mites
escaping
the evil heat.
“As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.”
— Aimee Bender
thee istsfor manity reader 