Dylan on the Jukebox

Dylan on the Jukebox There’s a fiddle playing At the wooden bar a muscle man major’s moustache sweeps the air Below a red nose scanning Disclosing defended reticence Sniffs out those freshly washed sweaters or pressed cotton jeans While… All contented and conceited eyelids aim towards the door At young skin Innocent, naïve folks Faux folks The eyes talk: “Who are these soft-toed crane-flies who dare enter our spittle spattered dungeon?” Play music play “We’ll show them what the University of Life has done to our sweet bones.” Sour in the shade The liquid flows and pours Down hard grizzly throats, swelling scratched and stubble stretched The scent of electricity on the walls Behind the worn-out woodchips And frogs croak on burnt-green velvet futons Electrocuted by the buzz Zigzagging juddering Drinking guzz gu gu gu guzzling Play fiddle play “Is our purpose not the same on this Earth?” To drink and follow some direction Dance apprentices dance And morph and conform From the butterfly to the dusty old moth And look at the reflection in the rainy pane Through the mist Large grey lines grow below your eyes Look close Ogres now so… Put large keys into large locks And inhale Smell that piss? Taste that piss? In unison , one two three: “Aaah” That’s what you breathe now Keeps you alive now There’s no going back now Not when the poison flows from the brim of your hat …a jaded thought, briefly This is it, this is you Wait… Fresh air, briefly Ouch, what a distant painful memory.