Old Highway 61
Rough road ahead
God tells his people where to put the bleachers
while The Gambler counts his winnings
while a siren whistle screams
while a man giggles at nothing
while Abram rocks his son
whom he hath named Robert Zimmerman.
Ummm, think I’ll change my name to cement my fame. Call me Dylan.
“I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies… I think that’s the record.”
He was 39 years old when he died.
I understand Dylan Thomas, sort of.
I understand Bob Dylan, sort of.
Sort of.
People got problems.
Problems got people.
Problem people.
I could be a problem people.
I could be a people problem.
It’s okay.
“It’s okay.”
Just two words.
It’s okay.
Learning is hard!
“It’s okay.”
Bleachers filling up.
The Gambler lays his money down.
Christians and lions
and hunchbacks
and starlets
ride The Beast,
hoping to catch a break.
Hey! YA WIN SOME… YA LOSE SOME!
Look up.
Behold!
It’s a Van Gogh sky!
Oh starry night!
Resplendent!
It was just a dream.
A longing.
My soul’s longing.
I pour another whiskey.
Through the teeth
and over the gums,
watch out stomach
cause here it comes.
People with problems.
Problem people.
Sometimes I want to…
want to…
Sometimes I want to…
No! I will not go there.
You would banish me
forever if I told you.
I will not speak.
I will be a good boy.
Obedient.
Helpful.
Morally straight.
Who am I kidding?
Morally straight?
You fucking kidding me?
Listen…
I know more than some of you.
I know less than some of you.
I’m looking for a common meeting ground.
I’m looking at Van Gogh’s sky.
I’m looking at you.
If you could see the things that I see…
If you could hear the music I hear…
Antithesis…
Leave Me Be.
I need to be alone.
Synthesis…
It’s okay.
Just two words.
It’s okay.
