"Let’s make a deal, night’s falling…"

 
Jesus took the stars
outta my eyes,
‘n’ traded ‘em
for a blood-crusted nail -
impalin’ my mind
on the same crude cross
          road
where Robert Johnson
made his deal
to save his soul –

and,
ever since

the blues been runnin’ thru my veins,
promisin’ true-blue,
blood-red afro-americana
down to the walked-out soles
of my Jesus-born soul –

but,
          truth be told –

there’s a flea market for souls
on the edge of town
where only strangers
drop their dimes:
with wiggles of rhythm
and waggles of rhyme,
their hearts completely out of time –
one hand clapping
in the silence of my mind.

 
maaan,
I gotta get out of here
before the angels hear
my life’s on sale
for under a dime,

damn!

it’s getting close,
close
to closing time…

 
NOTE: They say that R.J. “sold” his soul to the devil; this is an alternate version of his conversion.