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.