the Blood Reverend

tonight it's not the whiskey
tonight the Blood Reverend rules my heart.
there are massacres in Rwanda,
oil-spills in the gulf,
but what gets my attention are the ants crawling on the kitchen counter.
the Blood Reverend whisper in my ear
a dream of buffaloes roaming the streets of Los Angeles.
he was the burning bush,
the cardboard sign of the beggar,
the dust in the lungs of 1930's Oklahoma children.
he promised  to take me back to the womb,
a uterospective,
then we will walk the Mojave for forty years.
he will hand me the Devils banjo,
so i can become the soundtrack of an abandoned desert motel.
tonight it is not the whiskey
tonight the Blood Reverend makes my heart sick with life.
there is a war in Iraq,
earthquakes in Japan,
but what gets the ants attention is me crawling on the kitchen counter
fighting this gentle urge to go mad.

(from "you are working the angry bell inside my head".)