Issue No. 12, Spring 2015

where the spirits drink the locals drunk around a bonfire in the back of a voodoo swamp blues bar in a bayou somewhere not too far southeast of Baton Rouge
Christopher Chamberlin Miner
for Robbie

one of these days my friend
you and I
are gonna drink
and howl our guitars
in a voodoo swamp blues bar
in a bayou
somewhere not too far southeast
of Baton Rouge

*******
we will make our way
down dark roads

where the spanish moss hangs thick
draped and dangling
from cypress trees
and telephone poles

we will breathe the warm and rotten
beautiful summer swamp air
that heavy and damp
poisonous and sweet
diseased
life giving
southern
oxygen
into our lungs

the stars the full moon and the fireflies
will render the light
and the shadows

creeping things
will hide
and stare
and be very still
while they watch
from the woods
and the ditches
along the sides of the roads
we will travel
on our way
to a voodoo swamp blues bar
in a bayou
somewhere not too far southeast
of Baton Rouge

********
we will head out
down
along Blood River Road
we will have heard
a rumor
about a place
where psychedelic banjos bleed out
biblical sized chants
and the beer and the bourbon flow
like honey in the Springtime
where hips sway like meandering rivers
to the beat of rhythms
carried across oceans
a rumor about a place
where the power and the glory
are not hidden away

a rumor
about a voodoo swamp blues bar
where the spirits drink the locals drunk
around a bonfire in the back

*******
we will make our way
through toxic and intoxicating
alligator marshlands
past homes where snakes are seen as gods
and also used for food
and neckties
and holy book scapegoats
past homes flooded out
toppled from their stilts
past homes where dobros
and washboards trance
at three thirty in the morning
past homes where LSD dreams
ritual screams
hearts and identities are sacrificed
while elderly dreadlocked women
sit and softly sing
songs from the spirit world
to give these things rebirth
past homes where anima and animus
are given divine tangible form
we will make our way
to an unnamed
seldom used
dirt road
barely a road
more like traces of tire tracks
muddied and overgrown

we will walk this hidden road
and we will find
this voodoo swamp blues bar
where nine lanterns will hang from the ceiling
and line the walls

where seven of them will be lit


Christopher Chamberlin Miner lives in Berkeley, California with his two cats, Isis and Bella. He loves them very much. He also loves music and sound.