Revelation On The Banks Of The Pawtuxent (For John Fahey)

You were drunk in Tacoma

all those years because the Yankees

freed the slaves by accident, and the

Blues swelled in the South like a heart

and spilled it’s life’s blood slowly

across the nation  like a howl and a moan.

You were drunk in Tacoma, where?

Your house? Bars? Work mens’ shops?

You must have found the space of your

music all around you. I prefer to think

of you mythologically…I jumped on stage

in Boston and shook your hand… you 

played over two hours and took breaks to

talk to the audience…you were 

kind that night…that night 

you weren’t drunk. 

Two nights later, at a bar, you played 

straight forty five minutes…didn’t look

at the audience or say a word…got up

and left.