I remember when Dylan was
a snot nosed young punk
full of milk and vitriol,
peering belligerently at you
from album covers,
all tumbleweed hair and
baby fat cheeks,
sneering down his nose at
the old and the lame and the stupid,
the perfect brat.
Probably hadn't even started shaving yet.
Singing in an old man's
cracked broke down emphysema wheeze
like old cars rusting in the junkyard.
He's old now,
his face is all
gaunt and haunted,
hair sticking up in all directions
like electrified lint,
down his long pointed witch nose
like he's heard your lame story
too many times to give a fuck,
looking for all the world like
Methuselah's mohel.
And his voice
like old paint
chipping off all those junked cars,
still telling us how lame we are.
Somehow,
coming out of that
grey grizzlechopped countenance,
it makes him seem all the more like
God's immaculate brat.
For this week only, I’m offering a 20% discount on all annual subscriptions. Thank you so much for supporting this publication. I’ve got some 🔥 posts coming up soon, and I can’t wait to share them with you all.
From Zeitgeist Press:Vampyre Mike Kassel was a poet, musician, songwriter, and playwright. He resided in San Francisco after having been run out of Boston for crimes against normalcy. He held the S. F. record for most times evicted. He liked sincere girls who didn’t wear too much makeup and who put out on the first date.
M.A. Kassel wrote, published, and performed enthusiastically in the San Francisco poetry and music scene for decades. He died in 2008, and will be mourned by many women and several cats.
