A January Demented Dylan Poem

Bob Dylan’s On His Own (So Am I)

Well, I was open to the soft side,
Was what I was calling,
But it was hard, abrasive, and everything
I knew about anyone was appalling
When it was applied to you, gentle you,
And it made me dizzy, and I just failed and faded
As I stared at you intently and once more slept alone…

Bob Dylan’s on his own Internet radio station,
I hear, him and Howard Stern, but not me,
(Fuck all that money for mere radio!)
And I’ve been up for days, just dazed
About how the world goes, when it goes,
Growing primmer by the hour,
My light growing dimmer by the power of lost
Energies and funeral flowers aglow in Kansas City
Where the jazz once flowed like black vanilla icing...

Oh what can anyone tell
About the mysteries of heaven and hell
Or the music that’s been lost
Now that we’re all awake and deaf
And Bird is gone and dead
And everything is public and pubic
And besides takes place on TV for all to see?
It's everything but the sex.

Could anything be more vulgar than all of this?
We strive to stroke and spill and get our own way,
While others in the bed are chilled in a heated room
And the deadpan souls of soldiers pile up on TV
Without ever bleeding very much somehow
And we may grieve, but don’t cry about it at all.

Some people may scream and wince
And complain a bit
To the masters of the universe,
But before it's over
They just look stupid on TV
And we cut to a commercial.

---