Zero Dylan
Posted: July 3rd, 2010, 5:41 am
My first poetic flazzle memory
or the first dazzle conscious one
must have been Like A
Rolling Stone, I was alone
and alone was me
I knew I was a Beatnik cat
or a kind of surf punk flunk
which means I could not surf
and I could not write poetry
Dylan just erased my last childhood
or after Bob my comic kid memories
were now like some other kid's crimes
I now lived in his lacy lucky duck lyrics
everything balanced against fast crazy chance
the wise guy words that were music and the
music that was joker smoker words
there is no way to explain that big
gaping dark hole that I saw down
into zero me Dylan days
Kerouac not filled in yet, or B junkey
I knew next to nothing really about Beat neato
but D's flow of dicey dancey images, was all that
and then some, I was hooked and booked for
every cigarette that I dragged on made me feel
like a complete drag rag Napoleon
like a complete zero idiot unknown
and all directions and no directions, any ones
pointed away from the nowhere, nothing home
of the brave the quicksilver and the too cool too
all alienation inside my born jazz gypsy soul
the world black on black blue sounds pouring
like diamond back rain in a vacuum in
space was the place where my poetic journey
began its long walk toward heaven's stoned door
but before that I had to learn how to crawl
on that zero Dylan dynamite bottomless floor
crawl through the desolations of howling voices
in the tornado tent of miracles and seesaw dust
in the electric wastelands of teenage tomorrow
and yesterday would never arrive on Zimmerman
and today, a paper clown mask blowing on the wind
or the first dazzle conscious one
must have been Like A
Rolling Stone, I was alone
and alone was me
I knew I was a Beatnik cat
or a kind of surf punk flunk
which means I could not surf
and I could not write poetry
Dylan just erased my last childhood
or after Bob my comic kid memories
were now like some other kid's crimes
I now lived in his lacy lucky duck lyrics
everything balanced against fast crazy chance
the wise guy words that were music and the
music that was joker smoker words
there is no way to explain that big
gaping dark hole that I saw down
into zero me Dylan days
Kerouac not filled in yet, or B junkey
I knew next to nothing really about Beat neato
but D's flow of dicey dancey images, was all that
and then some, I was hooked and booked for
every cigarette that I dragged on made me feel
like a complete drag rag Napoleon
like a complete zero idiot unknown
and all directions and no directions, any ones
pointed away from the nowhere, nothing home
of the brave the quicksilver and the too cool too
all alienation inside my born jazz gypsy soul
the world black on black blue sounds pouring
like diamond back rain in a vacuum in
space was the place where my poetic journey
began its long walk toward heaven's stoned door
but before that I had to learn how to crawl
on that zero Dylan dynamite bottomless floor
crawl through the desolations of howling voices
in the tornado tent of miracles and seesaw dust
in the electric wastelands of teenage tomorrow
and yesterday would never arrive on Zimmerman
and today, a paper clown mask blowing on the wind
Remember that "zero" is a place-holder until one becomes