Feels Like a Freeze-Out

Bob Dylan what's the fuckin point?
I think of you, pale and blue,
entering easily through cemetary gates.
The spotlight fades in Carnegie Hall.
Curtains fall in Baltimore, Newport and Budokon.
You arrived intact I guess.
The darkness waited for you.

But it's the year 2000, almost spring again,
and the ruins of Greenwhich Village
disguise their hearts as vacant hotels,
eyeballs with bloodlines of guilt.
Where is Bleeker from nowhere?
Where is the lamplight to cloak desperation in the wiles of moonless midnight?
Where is Minnesota tonight?

I see nothing but a skin parade
that clogs pipes with rose hips and jelatin tits.
Where have you gone Mister Zimmerman?
Did you ascend the mountain to leave us scratching circles
in soft grass?
Or did you find the wine bottle, the one you buried in the dirt,
and go away to drink it?

- Joseph Weissman



Free Williamsburg | 93 Berry Street | Brooklyn, NY 11211
[email protected] | May 2000
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