This was written by my dear friend William Stille about 12 years ago.  He was an extremely talented painter, musician and craftsman.  He loved the siguiriyas palo and that is the inspiration for this poem.  He died by his own hand and I miss him.

Siguiriya.  Bleeding voice    shredded    by swallowing broken glass   the dregs of love    calls into the night    alone    shivering    embarrassing the moon    en el cante    para mi es flamenco.

Flailing hands    that long for knives    civilized frenzy    longing for torn flesh    and scattered roses    en el toque    para mi es flamenco.

Heart    stuffed into a jar    smothered    bursting    with feet shouting    en el baile    para mi es flamenco.