On Hearing "Not Dark Yet"

ON HEARING NOT DARK YET and i’m looking at this old photo
he’s standing in busy new york city
and it’s a close-up photo
and I notice his lips are chapped
and i’m wondering why doesn’t he
get Chapstick?
it looks llike wintertime in the photo
his lips must hurt
and even bleed at times
and it looks like hell
those cracks in his lips
then it occurs to me
i’m worried so much about his lips
that i’m not even listening to the words
of his song
you need to hear his words
 but i’m so worried about his chapped lips
that i can’t concentrate
then it occurs to me
why in the world am i worried about
his chapped lips
this photo has to be from the 60s
he’s young as a mouse
and i’m sitting here worrying about
his lips
and then I make the huge mistake of
looking closely at his fingernails and
OMG, they’re filthy
I remember reading long ago that
he didn’t smell nice
he must have written for days in
the same clothes and with the
smell of body and the smell of
smoke he must have been quite unpleasant
to be around
but those words
stringing them together the way he did
not bothering with his dirty fingernails or
chapped lips or unpleasant smells
OH and, that hair!
each strand following it’s own
drum and becoming electric
interacting with the elements
and never settling and I remember Tommy Saunders
was soooo cool, he’d play what he
wanted on his program
was supposed to play only what’s
on the top 40 survey
but I tune in this one morning and
he’s playing something about
freedom the likes of I’d never heard before
I was 16 and
that voice,
what the hell???
  The first song I ever heard was
The Times They Are A-Changin’
How did he get those words to
fit so succinctly? How’d he do it? He smoked, he wore blue work shirts
jeans, a handmade harmonica rack
Absolutely nothing that spoke of money Woody Guthrie came to mind
nasal drawl, sign of the times lyrics
comments where nobody dared tread
direct copy really in those first days Took him quite awhile to develop
his own style
his own sound
All hell broke loose when he went electric
those who thought they’d owned him
were incensed, angry, dumb-struck Pete Seeger wanted to pull plugs
at Monterey Folk Festival
fit to be tied, that one
All he could do to keep from
Jumping the Bob right on stage
wrestling him to the ground
drop-kicking his harmonica
lynching him with his own guitar strings He kept right on playing, didn’t flinch
“You’re A Liar!” he accused
and went right on ELECTRIFYING the
believers and nonbelievers
one tale after another, loud, sexual
brash and confident sing out  magazine laughed, jeered, smoked tears
feeling betrayed and spat upon...
spit is good for the soul... stuck to his guns, never went back
continued on to see where he’d go To all Ramonas everywhere
don’t cross this guy
you’ll get written up
chewed up
skewed up
spat out
and recorded about All he ever really wanted to do
was, baby.....