by Keith Baugh
Praises, no. 29:
Moon blowing away like
Radio wavers, bounced off Orion with codes
Of its own. The song says theres roads
In this hole, where a hound sounds like iron.
Bowlegged old men carry in
The suffering children from Chi-town to Rome
To Biloxi pellagra and rickets and lice.
The toll of their hardships got caught in your backwoods voice.
Across the fields you point
The burnt shell of your fathers house.
Silence, rain, the road not
going nowhere, going away,
Blackbird singing on the Red Wing wall.
Two lanes of 61, St Paul to Thunder Bay,
Mercury glints on grass,
lightnings eastbound scrawl
also The Nightingales Code: a poetic study
of Bob Dylan by John Gibbens
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