good luck, babe, progeny of tori amos & kate bush, the 1980’s, their “tell” -stratified debris of an earlier generation of people- now buried under chappell roan’s civilization, and so it goes, guthrie gave way to dylan, madonna to gaga, dicaprio to chalamet, not to say tori and kate are gone, but they are, & one day roan will disappear too, obvious, the young push out the old, why does this matter? because we all hold too tightly, grip less firmly, because, in the words of sufjan stevens, all things go
Tag: Bob Dylan
The Day He Couldn’t Write
he tried to remember 1986, the 7-11 with
rolling hot dogs glistening on metal
smell of slurpee sugar, spoon straws
filled with red frozen slush, playboy magazines
covered, cloistered in the corner
laffy taffy, baseball cards in wax wrappers
but then he forgot why it mattered, and moved on
to dancing, prancing, using words like dazzle and
bob dylan, but it still wouldn’t happen
wouldn’t congeal into anything
just looking for truth, he thought
looking is the problem, let them find you
play hard to get, but sometimes that just means
you are alone, like a rolling stone
a complete unknown, a themeless writer
who couldn’t make it happen
not today
Daniel W. Polk 