The Iberian cry

[maximumjake]

Steamy night shivers
and dog days-
through crowded rites,
thumping venues and pouring veins,
spitted visages and corpses
flood the betrayed pavement, land.

Soon the Iberian cry
will bring the Counts
the palpitations of the next few hours-

Run deviants from hotel rooms and crummy apartments
onto abandoned soil, starting the stomping the sweating,
breathing the excess in clouds of dust and heat, Line 2 and 3 are unclear. Something like starting the stomping of what, the sweating of what, and excess what? Clouds of dust? Heat?
and living always a step further as if
yesterday wasn't enough and later
there would be no catching up.

I'm not a history buff, but I'm guessing your poem has something to do with a historical event which went down in Iberia at some point.