photo by Lydia, Dylan’s mom, a representative photo: the you in the poem is you, who ever you are, not the kid, or not until he reads poetry
Shooting rifles into the air, that’s my electric snow. It won’t move men. It can’t get at the oil in time that damages us, makes us mean, and I can’t even make you feel better.
Headlong into our joys and pains, into what makes us tick, into together you and me, I come up empty of the value of our ship where you whistle on board.
I don’t know how to reach the other side, where I’m not a page in oneness, but I’ve crawled under your bedcovers, and I’m up against your body safe. Tell me how to do that.
I spill myself. I just pour my guts out, and darlin’ you get enough of that. You aren’t gonna lie to me I know I reach your bed or not. I can hold innocence in my hand, but I can’t rub myself with you with it, but I can’t find that spot on you you take it.
Dang blast it stars, it’s not all about the body, but that’s where we meet each other in person. I’m tryin’ to say we can still do the value in verse of the sincerity meeting you.
It’s the secret of poetry. It’s my hand in yours as you dally with your own. I find you there my sweetness givin’ your kids a bath, takin’ your dog for a walk, liftin’ your mind to the skies in anticipation of more there be. Oh honey boogers, can we swing together?
I think you’ve found your verse, Eastern were able to read. There’s a piss on your blacklist. Guess what ladies and gentlemen, a rowboat, and there appears on your ears deeper meaning.
You think you’re too weird for our TV? You’ve touched hearts, you know? But the chorus rings out— how did it happen? How did you do anything at all? [sing this and above line] It’s about how to hold life at bay when we’re in a very physical intimacy. My official model is bliss. This will be call master.
I like this poem. It feels very personal. It’s not an imagist poem. It’s more logocentric than that, but less literal than logocentric.
I think about the lines that were written here as in good faith with a lover or two, and perhaps even the experience of loving. I keep thinking of the maxim, “It’s better to lose in love, than never to have loved at all.”
There is indeed a secret to poetry, one I’m privy to because of Federico Garcia Lorca, whose poetry is a window into the far future. Perhaps, like him, one day someone will rediscover this poet and his poetry, and further identify with the life that is being lived, one life at a time.
Harm's End 
I like this poem. It feels very personal. It’s not an imagist poem. It’s more logocentric than that, but less literal than logocentric.
I think about the lines that were written here as in good faith with a lover or two, and perhaps even the experience of loving. I keep thinking of the maxim, “It’s better to lose in love, than never to have loved at all.”
There is indeed a secret to poetry, one I’m privy to because of Federico Garcia Lorca, whose poetry is a window into the far future. Perhaps, like him, one day someone will rediscover this poet and his poetry, and further identify with the life that is being lived, one life at a time.
Thanks for sharing this. It’s wonderful.
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