Steps to the Spirit-Dance

carry a big stick & give it a name

dance wildly in places of mourning 

follow the voices in your head on drums

smoke out every place of business with a harsh cigar

when you come to a fork in the road choose neither & go straight for the knife

make a public ritual out of every mental breakdown 

steer clear of wintry temperaments

don't be too hard on those who choose to follow you

chalk up their bad tattoos to scar envy

call the sun your brother but don't put all your trust in him

enter every room cockfirst 

refuse all sugary offerings

drink your coffee black or not at all

drink your coffee in violent company

never expect a lamp to burn all night

prop up the corpse of Che Guevara

do that until he gets his strut back

then make him head priest of your forest tribe

come gather up the powdered bones of old Lumumba

run them through the crucible of patience

& watch him come forth to praise the killing hand 

now he's master of his own kitchen

the gods are his soul food

like any wise eater he feeds only on those who taste of death

Dreamkeeping

to give dreams their due

lest they come back as witches

a gang of wild boars

in a mad flight

leaping

across rooftops

as seen from below 

a seaport in the old style

looping roads

that meet themselves

& never any lack of moonlight

we call it Killer's Cove

out on the pier a lone cantina

long burnt-out but standing 

here tired killers turn contemplative

who have their mansions in the hills

but do their drinking down below

talking shop in tired voices

tired killers three drinks shy of Tula 

& every night quiet as expected death…

blowing smoke into our mezcals 

some god is blowing fog across the sea

sunset calms the twitching hand

shopkeeper's turned curandero 

peddles shrunken heads now with a smile

he knows what god has done the shrinking

but that knowledge costs you extra

the climate lays you out

& still I stiffen

bent back held up on a chain of iron vertebrae 

(wait, that one's no dream)

tough guy idling to the tune of tug boats

what is it—just a lapse of attention

the result: my cock betrays me

impregnated the town whore

was made king

& quickly learned

that kingship is to be avoided

like winter & like wine

Little Stabs at Shamanhood

One time I smashed a glass window with my bare hand. Smashed clean through & when I looked down at my hand cut open & the blood dripping, I laughed. I drank wine from a bottle & wrapped an old rag around the wound. My head became heavy, the floor below soft. I felt then like a bloodcovered man shuffling down a crowded corridor & the crowd making way. And my laughter was that of a mad god in the night. 

Or when I noticed a growth on my back, a lump of some kind. I didn't like the looks of it. I heated up my cigarette by taking a deep drag then shoved the glowing tip right in there, right into the lump. The skin sizzled & I laughed as it sizzled. Laughed at how well I had doctored myself. I felt then like a village tattoo artist working strange patterns into somebody's skin, when in comes a mother crying what have you done to my boy, he looks like a beast now, he's pale as a ghost & won't speak. And my laughter was that of a mad god in the night. 

Then there was the time I strung a bunch of paper up on a ceiling fan. Just hung the pieces from the blades & lit them. And once the fan got going & balls of fire came shooting through the room, I laughed. Laughed so hard my head became hot, thinking, I've made fire in the head. I felt then like a god who deals the people fire when what they're praying for is rain. And my laughter was that of a mad god in the night.

A Song of the Living

How her bra keeps slipping at the beach

slipping in the play of the waves

& their feet kicking up sand

as they chase each other there in the spray…

Spray of the waves coming in 

spray of the salty waves splashing

spray of the waves showering bodies at play

Lovers’ bodies glistening in the wash of the spray 

& sweat glistening too in the heat of the sun

He catches her fiddling with her strap, loosening it, making it slip

it slips at last, she lets it slip

there in the sand

there where the foaming waters break at her feet

He looks at her

looks at her standing there

looks at her body glistening there in the spray

glistening with sweat & the droplets of spray

& her brown breasts gleaming in the light of the sun

Falling together into the sand

letting themselves fall

he slides it hard into her soft place

& she with heavy breath

digs her heels into the sand as he goes in deep

there where the foaming waters break at their feet

buttocks grinding in sand to the crashing of waves

there in the light & the heat of the sun

the movement of bodies showered with the spray of the waves

& later the sight of sand on her buttocks walking away

walking to fetch banana & pineapple 

there in the evening sun turned red

red as the parts of the lovers at rest from their play

Lovers eating & talking & laughing

blowing up smoke into the red of the sun

& how the sweat, semen & sand wash away in the waves…

One for the Dead

He wondered then. Wondered where they had gone. All those that had left him. The ones death had taken. Maybe over to the old mountain. Maybe that's where they dwell now. Or down at the foot of the canyon, where things sometimes grow, where dead things come alive again, sometimes. He wondered when it would rain again.

He'd been gathering firewood that day. But the wood was dry, dry & brittle. Burnt up too fast & the smoke stung his eyes. Maybe if I cry a little the ones who've gone will hear me. But he didn't cry. And he felt too that it can't be far, the place the spirits of the dead fly off to. Sometimes when the wind hit him just right or a bird came by he felt himself in the presence of his brothers. And his sisters were of the earth, he was sure of that. You scoop up soil & hold them in your hand. And then it is just like this fire. The wood doesn't go away, it just turns to smoke. Then once it's up there it turns into air. And little specks of your brothers come down with the rain. It really is like that, yes. 

Animal Praises

Hedgehog 

moves softly

ruffles no one

wears a forest of speared insects

for a coat

Crow

feeds on the carrion of beasts

bigger than him

he'll do better

in the afterlife

than most monks

Marten

master scavenger

who'd find food under a roof tile 

whose furry ass

somehow

never gets stuck in a drainpipe

Pitbull

sniffer of a woman's bloody crotch

after he takes a noseful 

lays at her feet

& pays homage

Chicken

long dead

bloated on a heap of straw

push down on it some time

& hear it pass wind

from the grave

Cat

soft-footed killer

gone for a week

greets his host with

a butcher's plate of mice

on the rug

Praises of Andalusia

head is home to spirit

half a summer's day

trying to cool it

remembrance of the other half

washed away with beer

you call that Andalusian housekeeping 

Andalusia, land of sun & bitterness!

your sons scrub dust & sand off mothers’ feet by day

& when night comes

squat curbside by the butchershop

cursing every stranger

that stands between them & their meat

mother Andalusia, marijuana chokes your alleyways 

the night your sons gather to shoot the shit

for them there's no relief till comes

the day of the goring of the bull

oh naked, joyous Andalusia! 

young city woman plays at being goddess of the seashore 

she's made a pact with the wind to dance in her hair

& when the waves lap at her thighs 

drops the last bit of cloth

to dip her cunt into the sea

& just like that

cocks stiffen & souls revive

even those who thought

they had no life left in them 

oh hidden, secret Andalusia!

your Germans take after the bats in Nerja's caves 

they got no taste for daylight

is that the shadow he's casting 

or demons fast on his heels? 

that first week's tan won't last for long

German's got a shaky hold on spirit

like a cigarette slipping through

the fingers of the man that's nodding off 

oh Andalusia, shuttered in your whitewashed homes 

die men who never knew you

Andalusia, your wells may lack for water but they do not lack for blood!

the old singer of flamenco he puts down his guitar

holds out a back-hand 

cracked & dry as riverbed

his pride rests in his veins

“see these knuckles streaked with blue? 

that's what this land once looked like”

oh Andalusia, your birds deaf to cries for rain!

this one goes coasting on a cloud

then cuts the cloud mid-air

& drifts out over sea 

but he's no ordinary bird 

his wings flap to an older tune

he knows the score

he took part in creation 

& still remembers what it is to praise

hail Ogun! 

hail Anat! 

hail Shango!

here's to the wild ones!

the gods who have water at home

but do their washing up with blood

Andalusia with your sands as hot as coals!

wandering merchant's feet are used to it

he knows these beaches better than his homeland

& with eyes untroubled by the glare

sees all the riches hid

beneath these old, old stones 

…if only hands could lift them 

for now this will do:

sitting under palm tree shade 

& sucking sardine flesh right off the spine

Skull Music

the black hut stands silent

stands silent on the edge of town 

there among the trees

where the road ends

the black god enters

with creak of hinge 

throws open wide the door

throws off his coat of bloodied buckskin

throws off his hunting instruments

throws off his evening's kill & sits there

sits there silent

as his players watch him

three hooded players

sitting like three blackbirds on a branch

& watch him who with the sharp end of his iron

picks his teeth

chews something & picks

the black god spits

he spits in the dark

& when he spits the players rise

a row of three taking three puffs of smoke

& hold it in 

then start the spinning

floorboards creaking under nimble feet

& the boys spinning 

spinning till their heads are good & drunk

that's how the music gets in

there go the drums then

two drums beating like the blackbird's heart

& between them the chief player

drives a stick of knotted wood into the floor he hits the floor

hits it so hard the boards ring out

ring out in rhythm to the beating of the drums ring out 

with the sound of baying dogs

with the sound of rocks tumbling down the mountain 

with the sound of a razor run across a leather strap

with the sound of bat wings clapping

& the forest clapping back

with the sound of clavicles snapping like twigs

with the sound of fat crackling over fire

with the sound of a fool's last gasp caught in his throat

with the sound of housewives screaming

& the sound of husbands wheezing in the dark 

with the sound of blackbirds breeding

with the sound of corn husks shucked all day

with the sound of bonesaw, chisel & stone at work upon the sick man's jaw

with the sound of a gunshot 

& the flap of birds fleeing the tree

with the sound of the blacksmith's hammer

with the sound of sweat drops sizzling on hot stone

with the sound of a machete splitting coconuts

with the sound of a machete splitting heads

with the sound of gurgling streams

with the sound of a shaman's gurgling throat when lost in trance

with the sound of virgins moaning

with the sound of a guitarist plucking at a single string

with the sound of salmon splashing

with the sound of salmon ripped apart by claws

the black hut rings out

rings out on the edge of town

there among the trees

where the road ends

Hunter's Curse & Cure

follow these words like steps in the dark

think you get to play death like a drum

think this black dirt won't stick to you

brother you're drunk on the palmwine of terror 

here you're not dreaming when you dream 

of choking on dirt

of being beaten like a drum

of losing your mind on a hunt, here

laid out on the forest floor

tied down with blackened sheep's gut

tied down with black root & black rope

tied down till the poison drains

the poison that's gone deep

now rise, stir, move about

follow this voice to where it's darkest

to the old black cabin below, there

where the hunters do the healing:

see, you beat your head against a wall

see, what spills out is the god inside

To an Old Ford Bought at Auction

Ho! you say I got nothing to show for

Ho! you say I'm all broke & spent

Ho! just wait till you feel the hot breath

till you've been hit by the tailwind

of my road horse made of steel

watch me, I am the war god's driver

this engine runs on sparks from his forge

with the fire of his eyes for headlights I ride

& there is nothing that I do not see

I am the dagger shooting through enemy territory

I am the thief who slips by unseen

Ho! I ride this horse through your town by night

at daybreak all your finest women leave with me

Ho! if I stick around & strut the outskirts

it's to watch tough guys tremble at the sound of my wheels

wheels running with the charge of an army of horses, 200 strong 

wheels running with the charge of white lightning

wheels running across fields, wheels stripping the fields

what the farmer abandons I make my stomping ground

my horse grazes on blacktop, he's master of every dirt road

lives on offerings of gasoline & when he belches pastures burn

I am the fire spreading in the brush

I am the hunter who won't quit his prey

I am the pumping heart

with a hood tattooed in sunrays I give chase to the day

& after I ride with the white clouds & with the dark clouds bearing rain

I bring the night down with me

Defining Neuperlach (A Road Map for Marked Souls)

for Radek

it is a grey place

a place built of grey 

plastered with grey

lined with grey

a place of straight roads, of straight corners

of roads & corners fenced with plate glass

fenced with plastic

it is a wide-open place

a place of many openings

a place no one can find his way into

a place with many roads leading to it

a place with only one road out

it is a place of dim rooms, of cramped balconies

of thin walls, walls that echo long after a fight

of low ceilings, looming ceilings

where all feels tight, feels crammed, feels stuck

where no one ever leaves

a place few know how to leave

a place most don't ever think of leaving

it is a place of misery, of dread

a place where dread is shared, is spread, is handed down

handed down from father to son

handed down by every mother

here hips are broken 

legs are broken

here there is abuse, there is cursing

here footsteps heard on pavement send shivers down a grown man's spine

here eyes squint even when it's cloudy

a place the sun doesn't reach

where the shining sun pricks like a needle

a place that makes you wait for the breeze, makes you wait till you're stiff in the knees

a wind-tossed place

a place of sheet rain, of bullet hail

of snow that covers everything 

snow that buries streets, buries men, buries all

a place with a past remembered by none

it is a place of weeping & of wailing

of back-hand slaps & sudden disappearance 

a place the weepers & the wailers never abandon 

it is a place long abandoned