bob dylan

I bite my tongue

purgatory’s kiss

old songs rattle

 the desert wind

becoming the sky,

tomorrow’s headlines

no beginning

 or end

doing or thinking

nothing

listen to the songs

whistling the past

no new thought

memories implode,

hot sunshine,

a toke of love,

the taste of hate,

laughing and crying

roses

quenching a thirst

of revolution

heaven beckons

a naked path

so I may swallow

new memories

retired truths

blue moons

with no beginnings

or end

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