Bob Dylan

There is something boiling on the stove’s gas-driven flame
Coffee, tea or chai, to me they taste about the same
My cup overfloweth, and I won’t say whose to blame
Each of us has demons that we must conquer and tame

Scribbling in the darkness, a small candle for a light
Imagining the consequence of illusory might
There must a million others sleepless on this night
Each of us believing that the cause we back is right

A literary reference should be made about this point
Some veiled allusion to Rimbaud or lighting up a joint
Each voiceless generation seeks a mouthpiece to anoint
If it’s me that you’ve selected, I must disappoint

Walking in the shadows near the fading of the sun
Late for an appointment, but I’m much too tired to run
As each chapter closes, with higher ladder’s rung
Some look just for endings, disregarding what’s begun

Endless wires and circuits leading out into the void
Means by which some conversation may be well enjoyed
Yet so many people sad, and others are annoyed
Others work to prove themselves by acting unemployed

A throwaway non sequitur I now will introduce
This life is like an orange, squeeze it to enjoy the juice
Watch which way the cannon points, for it may come unloose
You can try to make sense of this, but there’s not much use.

11 SEP 2003

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