TWO by Tony Moffeit
the fugitive kind

the rains came that night it was strange
because it had been so dry the rains came
like that night val xavier (snakeskin)
came into that little mississippi town
in tennesee williams' the fugitive kind
(orpheus descending) the rains came that
night that we descended on las vegas,
new mexico, like snakeskin descending
on that little southern town we descended
like blues singers traveling south (turn
return born return again) valentine xavier
wore a snakeskin jacket and had a guitar
given to him by leadbelly and the conjure
doctor was always in the shadows some
oil-stained scarecrow with a bag of mojos
(return torn turn born return again) and
you could hear the windchimes blowing
in the rain that night it was strange 
because it had been so dry and we
headed south to las vegas and santa fe
the thunder spoke to us like gunfire
as we drove mars-red into the fire of rain
valentine xavier spoke of birds with
transparent wings and she (the one who
sought something wild) wanted him to
make love to her in the graveyard 
wanted him to make love to her on
cold stone (that's the kind of night it was)
it had been dry but that night was 
sopping wet like cold stone love on
a tombstone (she remembered him from
his party days in new orleans)    
and the sights were raised to a new fire
the stakes were raised to lightning
(born been around down around)
that's what it was like that night in
las vegas it was like her slender fingers
caressing his snakeskin jacket and
talking to the old conjure man telling
him that it was the skin of a wild thing
and how she sought the only thing left
that was wild



night blues

a new kind of truth got found
down under red weather together
your face on the backstreets
your name on the backstreets
your boots on the backstairs

night was caught in the nerves
night was caught under the skin
night was caught in the blood of the race
and there was a deep chaotic hunger
for the lightning in the veins

it was time to deal the whole deck
the outlaw ace
the renegade deuce
the queen of spades
in a game of double solitaire

the only theatre we could find
was a theatre of blood
our own theatre
of night jazz mexican food
and tecate beer

our eyes sped like bullets
and we could feel the molten steel
of the mill settling in our blood
the neighborhood bars with
their red lights ablaze

neon neon and more neon
the neon of billboards the neon
of bar signs the neon of mirrors
the neon of clocks the neon
which gives us light

and what could we borrow 
from the darkness
what could we borrow
from the blackness
what could we borrow
from the night
but the mystery
of a new identity

the blood of the poet
the blood of the sidewalk
the blood of the moon
the blood of the blues

night of neon and diamonds
and steel and railways 
and concrete 
night of brooding sky 
and traffic lights 
and circular highways

miracle of it all
to be unmasked in the fire dance
to be thrown into abandon
where ghosts play out their tunes

and the wind blew strong
as deep red wine
and the blood flowed like a river

and the night sang its song
of neon and mexican food
and train whistles

and the night sang its song
of prairies and mountains
and steel mills

and we sniffed the air like
wolves for the scent of rain
probing the night for a 
vision in the clock of 
numbers under mad stars

and over the rooftops a solo
was born and out of the fog
a horn blew a beautiful madness
and out of the coyote night
a solo swirled endlessly and
out of the storm a horn 
blew on and on and on
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