Bob's Last Tour

 No vision without
those glasses. A purple
pink brand. Over under
striped and repeating glow.
Letting go, I’m allergic,
like a lizard, teach
me how to be like
a human, its been so long
since anyone came around
this desert.
Friendly cactus.
Not a hugger.
A seer without glasses.
I try to meditate often
and share. Fell through
the floor. Dreamt big,
flew far. The sun aches.
The suburbs won. But
I wasn’t there. Forgot.
Listen, or I’ll tell you
the secret. The left foot
goes first in some dances.
Saying goodbye is not
hello, and hello comes
last in line, a bit tired
but eager. Too many
cars for me.
But only the poets would
understand the trade in,
so I’m doing music.
At least there’s a song,
a sing along, a Bob
Dylan, a Bob Marley.
His last tour I danced
in the back row, as if
he could see me.
But maybe the version
did me instead of me
doing the version.