In the days when a man Would hold a swarm of words Inside his belly, nestled Against his spleen, singing In the days of night riders When life tongued a reed Till blues & sorrow song Called out of the deep night: Another man done gone Another man done gone In the days when one could lose oneself All up inside love that way & then moan on the bone Till the gods cried out in someone's sleep Today Already I've seen three dark-skinned men Discussing the weather with demons & angels, gazing up at the clouds & squinting down into iron grates Along the fast streets of luminous encounters I double-check my reflection in plate gla** & wonder, Am I pa**ing another Lucky Thompson or Marion Brown Cornered by a blue dementia Another dark-skinned man Who woke up dreaming one morning & then walked out of himself Dreaming? Did this one dare To step on a crack in the sidewalk To turn a midnight corner & never come back Whole, or did he try to stare down a look That shoved a blade into his heart? I mean, I also know something About night riders & catgut. Yeah Honey, I know something about talking with ghosts