On the Back of Whim

Disclaimer…The inspiration for this poem was pilfered from Dylan’s lyrics and the words of a friend. ..I participated as vassal to my pen.

I swear to you, you couldn’t tell,
when he sang Desolation Row,
if it was him or Dylan but then,
how would you ever know?

You said to write no more letters,
so, with the years, the silence grows
but I know that you’ll read this one;
it comes from Desolation Row.

The beauty shop is abandoned,
but in the background soft and low
you can hear the lost sun’s rendition
of Desolation Row.

Because the tape is old and worn,
it somewhat distorts the show
but it is our last remaining link
to truths we’ll never know.

There are no postcards of the hanging
though the commissioner’s still blind.
Thus he cannot see the irony;
blest be the ties that bind.

The fisherman brought the flowers,
relatives stayed away in shame.
He walked those final hours alone;
no one knew his name.

The old owl demands his postage,
the piper comes to claim his pay,
and all the honey colored horses
just up and ran away.

This sad story I tell is true,
and I will tell you how I know.
I am the new librarian
on Desolation Row.

2 thoughts on “On the Back of Whim

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