The singers with no name.


Bob Dylan's spirits didn't know he was acting. I'm listening to the music, painting, chasing ghosts and dancing to the fiddles. full stops are all muddled up now, what did you do? I still read the stories and try to get back - something. Try and leave the house and meet an eye in a world where likes come before ideals, and emptiness hunts you on the bus. All the actors are out on the road looking for you, just like I looked for you - through your hot bugged, on the road nights. wanting to be anyone else , man o man. I remembered when you died because I was right behind you, in that chair you sat in for all those times before in the big fights of your life - and at last your escape into infinite dharma. I cried on the way to school listening to you on a tape, then sang to the whale. If you saw what I see now you wouldn't believe me, but I'll try; 

       we are still in it
       the dark

        even through 

          many tried

          to get us out 

           locked in with

            the heavy angry

            man who has 

             a candle a key
              and a look of hurt

               all he wants

               he says 

             is the spirit to go out
               and the birds to 

               fly off with the last 


               and to take us all 

                with him



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