Dylan Is A Snake

Dylan is a snake
His words hiss like pine in a fire
Slither off into the crowd
Like smoke at the end of a cigar
And echo
As if always coming from behind you.
He sinks his fangs into the back of your ankle
Poison beats like a drum and creeps up your arms
Your vision spirals
Searching for he center of the wheel
The eye of the storm
He devours the audience whole
With a mischievous smile
That says, “Good and Evil hold hands
Like brother and sister
Like roots into soil
And I will always know more about the holes in the ground
where Heaven and Hell leak into one another
Because that’s where I was raised
And I said it first”

And while his scales peel under the desert sun
And his rattle fades to a rustle under the leaves
His eyes remain
Aqua and black
Never blinking
An ancient indifference
Like two stolen gems.

He moves towards center stage
Pointing up to the commander in chief
Who sits crossed legged on a dirt floor
Playing his flute in a figure eight.
A slow moving wave
Moves from the bottom of Dylan’s toes
To the top of his white hat
Whispers through the steam holes in his harmonica
And slides off his thumb
The other hand waving free
Continuing the rigid sway
That danced asleep
And rose up from the ground.

Soon he will die there
Amidst the grains of melody
But like all good snakes he will hide his body
Where it cannot be found
Disappearing forever
Dylan will shed his last layer of skin.