The architecture of my mind is shaking like an earthquake;
Trembling and trembling like anxious thrills.
I’m singing to the melody of the open road like car-sick children
“Maman, are we there yet?”
I’ve got my head light as a balloon when I hit the streets;
Streets like dreams (crisscross crisscross)
Dear Jack, and dear Allen, are those your shadows under my feet,
looking of memories like whiskey and nicotine?
Oh dear Neil are you here, and you too Billy,
in those taxis like shooting stars over me?
The ducks are long gone from the park
and the rain is pouring on me like a Dylan blues.
That troubadour inside my heart is playing loudly,
shooting power chords along the ruptured veins of my arms.
Can you hear me out there Jerome David,
in your rye field with your unpublished prose?
I hear the echoes of harmonicas bleeding in the Village
and the strum of guitars spitting poetry.
I can see you across that cold water Bruce,
Dancing in the dark like a hungry night owl.
I can feel all of you in my muscles tighter than sailor knots,
You with your devil may care smiles so loud.