From A Buick 6
by Robert Allen Zimmerman
Where Teardrops Fall - Dylan
October 29, 2015
Desolation Row by Bob Dylan
Blood on the Moon
November 27, 2015
"The cost of pleasure is not pain but the absence of pleasure."-Cosmic Contact
A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall - Bob Dylan
BLOOD IN VAIN
Degrading, scathing, cold case post mortems -- your negligent assumptions, your magnificent crowing achievements, the grandiosity of your declarations, your confidences, your trust and the bone-dry assessment s of how you present the truth follow me.
Unknown sources harnessed emotion and thought and dragged a heartfelt commitment from my unwise choices. Had it been another who truly caused you to forfeit my person in your presence, the honor of your extraordinary tributes might have been tolerable. As it is, you remember me well.
Astounding that behind the bulkhead of the words you borrowed, your talents grapple with self-inflicted wounds, as if nobility of purpose undermined the importance of coming forth -- as if suitability determined the transit of feeling.
"Forevermore" was transformed into a barrister's phrase my docile nature will forgive no more and there is no argument with probity and law. Excuses proliferated but only saint remain forever doves.
Your empty promises tipped the scale, casting a disadvantaged light on impassioned trysting in the night -- they disowned the grace I lauded and discredited the love I invited.
Believing insanity could yield a miracle, agonizing pleasure skimmed my soul, pleading with derisory confidence and slackening my appetite for accountability. Years of karmic penance secured deep in the illicit pleasure of appropriated paths of glory and resulted in this solitude that brooks no argument.
Decades ago, a straightforward gesture of friendship initiated your celebrated songs, speaking of romance, paradise and seduction, but transfigured into a tortured web of desolate, embittered, regretful nights during which the allure of your endowments left me defenseless and your charisma did little to ease secret perpetual yearning.
Finally were free. Ironically our tangled know unraveled -- its silken cords fraying, disintegrating like all else...as is inevitable.
Trepidation and inquisitiveness were part and parcel of our love but perception, expectation, together they climbed mountains.
As the sleeping prophet you harbor and your sly voyeur retreat, the waking hours silently weep for comforting caresses and inspired conversations in the dark.
Secure in the knowledge that seasons are inalterable and ever changing, it would appear even love abates when self-preservation is at stake.
Beyond miscalculation, despair scoffs at self reliance and gnaws at self-esteem. The mind is seduced by diversion but the heart never forgets.
You offered me loving arms but would not relinquish your power to withhold. Incorrigible and intractable you tempt me with sentiment and your exquisiteness but deny me your humanity.
Raucous music mimics a care freeness you don't possess and simple phrases obscure our complicated history, as you spew venom and complacently flaunt diamonds pledged to me.
Our demons cling and wish to be absolved. You grant them immunity from fault, brother, but harden your spirit 'til no flower grows in your vacant lot.
Years of guarded waiting was to be endured, seemingly forever, and in the end your slight of hand wasn't enough to translate into deliverance. Ah lithesome spirit, heedless and exuberant -- how parsimonious your presence, how graceful your exit!
Reservations accost me daily as your astounding musical expertise trails a shower of stars on the road that wears you down to a fine, lethal flint.
Take your slavish concubines and your devoted wives, take them of your rockin' reelin' caravan carnival ride.
Some brown-eyed woman sets her claws to haul your ashes around and a humdrum storyteller adjust the poet's words.
Joining with a writer you never needed less -- row home with your oars ablaze -- lost in an ocean of mindless characters.
Amidst feckless admirers and unwholesome desires, glass slivers are embedded within.
Compulsion, suspicion, anxiety, predilection and lunacy prevail -- as if one could love them into submission.
But is was only me there by the roadside, sweetheart, you couldn't face. Inspiration demanded our life's blood but did not confirm understanding. Who would have believed flights of imagination could morally undermine the artist and devastate the muse?
What gratified you -- brilliance and praise work and your cerebral games, satisfied me not -- desire was the hobby horse that brought me to my knees.
Down South -- widowed, sweet gardenia ladies glide from dainty luncheons to lovingly tended grave sites and at the driving range people congregate for their share, overlooking gravestones that yesterday were not there.
Whiplash currents tremble unseen -- unheard of stale leavings of hardscrabble days. Exposed, transitory, ephemeral -- delicate structures indwelling in provisional complexity are folded against my raging past.
Time in luxurious swathes of pointless elective activity are consumed, burdened by concepts of senselessness.
Seeking freedom from turgid recriminations and hostile antagonisms that accost a sheltered tenderness, the mind arrogantly dominates this inundated scrap of flesh -- but only by the power of that which decrees our destiny do we live our lives.
Fragments of heart-sore aspirations are assigned indiscriminately and are askew.
Quandary and obtuse parameters; the game once played is forfeited. A simple need for welcoming arms perished and hope is consecrated instead to the unseen silent purveyors of fate.
This penance of exile, redolent of undesirability, coupled with weakness and pain portents unaavildable decline and inescapable defeat.
Floundering, capitulating, taking the steel rod for my back and dreaming still, grace b willing I'll soon be taken out of the equation.
Dreadful and dreary -- the time has come to put the night asleep with day and burrow deep amid wreck and ruin.
Tooth and claw -- a world unfolding, eroding, devouring-- renewing. Universal elements -- brilliant, cold and indifferent. Solicitous gentleness remarkably survives amid brutality and injustice rife.
The earth reclaims all,. Our bodies will disintegrate and the oceans will consume our honors and our sin, ennobling the vast reaches of our souls.
Ocean brine and lisping wavelets soothe and creatures of silken loveliness and sprightly playfulness, delight. A fragile, tiny wren this day did please with thoughtless twittering and jubilant display -- a sweet refrain to share, to grand a lightening of the mind and ameliorate my agitated heart.
Queen of Swords