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Blues Chant Hoodoo Revival
By Yusef Komunyakaa my story is
how deep the heart runs
to hide & laugh
with your hands
over your blank mouth
face behind the mask
talking in tongues
something tearing
feathers from a crow
that screams from the furnace
the black candle
in a skull
sweet pan of meat
let's pour the river's rainbow
into our stone water jars
bad luck isn't red flowers
crashed under jackboots
your story is
a crippled animal
dragging a steel trap
across desert sand
a bee's sting inside your heart
& its song of honey
in my groin
a factory of blue jays
in honey locust leaves
wet pages of smoke
like a man
deserting his shadow
in dark woods
the dog that limps away
& rotten fruit on the trees
this story is
the speaking skull
on the mantelpiece
the wingspan of a hawk
at the edge of a coyote's cry
the seventh son's mojo hands
holding his life together
with a black cat bone
the six grandfathers
& spider woman
the ghost dance vision
deer that can't
stand for falling
wunmonije witch doctor
backwater blues
juju man
a silk gown on the floor
a black bowl
on a red lacquered table
x-rated
because it's true
let's pour starlight
from our stone water jars
pain isn't just red flowers
crushed under jackboots
my story is
inside a wino's bottle
the cup blood leaps into
eight-to-the-bar
a man on his knees
facing the golden calf
the silver fish of old lust
mama hoodoo
a gullah basket
woven from your hair
love note from the madhouse
thornbushes
naming the shape
of things to come
old murder weapons
strings of piano wire
let's pour the night
into our stone isn't red flowers
this song isn't red flowers
crushed under silence
our story is
a rifle butt
across our heads
arpeggio of bowed grass
among glass trees
where the kick down doors
& we swan-dive from
the brooklyn bridge
a post-hypnotic suggestion
a mosaic membrane
skin of words
mirrors shattered
in roadhouses
in the gun-barrel night
how a machine moves
deeper into piles
of bones
the way we
crowd at the foot
of the gallows
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