Tuesday, December 10, 2013


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

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!

No comments: