Ode to Robert Johnson

The awkward shy boy
Walked down the dusty road
And found his soul on fire
At the crossroads.

The smell of BBQ, brimstone,
Whiskey and sulfur,
Seasoned the howls
Of the hellhound on his trail.

He returned from his obscurity
With a bottleneck
Sliding along steel strings;
With a voice of copper mash
Piercing holes in your spine
He dragged the devil out of a guitar
And shredded his heart
In pursuit of salvation,
Trying to draw the shine from the moon
With the crying shout
Of his haunting heartache.

He tore the eyes out of despair
And scraped the flesh from sadness,
The shrill knife of his vocal lament
Carved a hole from eternity
That was flayed upon the flames
Of his smoldering strings
Ringing out across the Delta.