DANCING IN THE VOID
By Tony Moffeit
i felt your spirit, hank, on that
last trip to taos thinking of the
last lines you wrote in the backseat
of a cadillac before passing out
for the final time passing on
something about the poison you
carried and i knew what you were
trying to say and even though
you read only comic books and
billboard magazines you wrote and
wrote and wrote i remember arlo
guthrie saying the same thing about
his father ole woody would rather
write than eat' and i hope i go out
the same way scribbling something
on a few scraps of paper before
floating in a dream dancing in
the void and when my car spun on
the ice down la veta pass and went
over the side of the cliff i thought
i might be seeing you, hank, but
a clump of trees not much bigger
than bushes caught the car about
a hundred feet down and i think of
taos, new mexico, village of death
village of life and how the two are
inseparable like lorca's duende
and how my best songs have all
been written in taos and yet death
pervades the place spanish death
indian death penitente torture
pueblo witchcraft sangre de cristo
mountains and, as you knew, hank,
the only way to whip death is
to attain that little piece of
immortality and so you wrestled
with the devil through the bottoms
of bottles and the bodies of women
and your suitcases full of guns
and your bleeding gut and your
swollen liver and your crooked
spine and your arthritic leg
for one more line, one more
blues, one more song
A BLUES RAIN A JAZZ RAIN
By Tony Moffeit
it rained in new orleans
a blues rain a jazz rain
it rained in the streets
a mojo rain a voodoo rain
while the musicians played
jug and guitar and washboard
it rained in new orleans
while a wild wild woman
on a french balcony
danced and threw roses
it rained in the streets
a blues rain a jazz rain
while the musicians played
jug and guitar and washboard
a mojo rain a voodoo rain
and i shouted at the top
of my lungs: hey hey hey hey
a blues rain a jazz rain
and a wild wild woman
threw roses from a
french quarter balcony
it rained in new orleans
a mojo rain a voodoo rain
and i was like a hobo
waiting for a train
as a siren sounded
through the streets
it rained in new orleans
a blues rain a jazz rain
THE BEATING OF THE BODY'S BLOOD
By Tony Moffeit
it was a time of threes: deaths traffic accidents
a friend who died in her sleep another attached to
a machine another in a traffic accident when a young
woman for one instant crossed the median to meet my
friend headon then my collisions three of them glass
shattering metal crashing the reverberations riddling
the body like an earthquake the deaths of my friends
my own colliding that was the time i learned of the
stonefly and his built-in drum they come in threes
so they say deaths traffic accidents three dancers
i met and the stonefly beating mating rhythms with
his built-in drum the crashing of metal and glass
the breath leaving the body the dancers with their
turns their glide their flight the stonefly drumming
his blues his mating refrain his tom-tom rhythm
to mate to die to crash to dance the darkness the
other side of the light three dancers making the
darkness shine thighs glowing in the night it was
then i learned of the stonefly the jungle of his
moves the drumming of his blues like the silence
of the dancers and their screaming moves they come
in threes so they say the dancers i met the crash of
metal and glass the turns and slides the glide and
the flight the spins it was then i learned of the
stonefly and his built-in tom-tom of the stonefly and his
blues call they come in threes so they say death by
sleep death by machine death by the dice of the
instant of crossing the median line kill line
chance controlled by the throw of the dice the body
immortalized in a dance the beating of the body's
drum they come in threes so they say the deaths
they dance the traffic accidents the dice of the glass
flying like diamond dust the love the lust the word
the blood the drum the internal jungle of the
stonefly the inner jungle of his drum his tom-tom
the beating of the body's blood the breath that can
be lost in an instant turning over in your sleep or
a car that crosses the median line colliding headon
the stonefly drumming the dancers with their thighs
lighting the night the dream the lust the blood all
interwined the last breath the laugh of a child