Trickster Sings the Blues
If I did not exist you would have invented me:
this unlonely loner, walker, wanderer,
face you swear youve seen before.
Consider methreat to women, men, decency
but in that good-natured way makes you feel better
about yourself. I bring magic in an old brown case:
music, mystery, a Sunday-go-to-meeting hat,
twelve bars & devotion. Meet me at the crossroads
& Ill sell you a taste too true to be good. I see
inside your fears, your forevers, your sunsetsthe heat
you think no one hears. I do not need to tell you
my name, its written in your eyes, mote & moat,
last defense against pretense. Sing with me.
You say you know better but what I offer
& what you crave cannot be wrenched apart.
The only trick in my bag is you think
youre giving up something. I steal nothing
you didnt invent in the first place. If you want
to know what gain I seek, forget the lyrics,
focus on the silence between the hard notes,
the empty, electric space between flesh. To find my angle
in this land of featureless planes & plains, this red dirt
crusted & dusted with scrub pines, follow the rivers:
water bleeds into water with a sound like freedom.
I do not exist but your stories
do not make sense without me.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 39 | Winter 2013