DYLAN

I was fourteen years old

Had an old beat up vinyl copy

Of Highway 61 Revisited from the library

I can remember the first time I attempted

Playing it and how the foreign sounds pouring

From the speakers pushed me down

Beneath subterranean landscapes

Six months later I revisited that same copy of

Highway 61 now long over-due, this time though

The foreign sounds did not seem so foreign

Matter a’ fact it was the only thing I discovered

Myself relating to

From this moment on nothing has spoken louder

Or clearer or truer, from this moment on The Doors

And The Beatles just would not do

I needed an edge that could redefine my boundaries

I sought an oblivion that desired to be consumed

And a sharp intellect that left phonies Blowin’ In The

Wind

Dylan opened a door to my subconscious long boarded

Up by the mongrel dogs who teach and this “Equality,”

He spoke of I did not need to completely comprehend

Because he has this revolutionary way of

Bringing it all back home

These days when I discover myself seeking solace or communion

Or whatever gets me through the night, these days when nothing

Makes much sense I turn toward his voice and the compassion

And joy made real by this myth, and this song and dance man.

Charles Cicirella 3:01 PM 5.22.2002

Commissioned by Ron House to be read at Used Kid’s Records

For Bob Dylan’s 61rst. B-Day!