A Dream Of Bob Dylan

(Somewhat to the tune of "Every Grain of Sand" by Bob Dylan.
I dreamed that Bob Dylan and I climbed an apple tree and threw down all the apples and then he climbed down and sang these lyrics except for "Bobby Dylan" which was sung as "Old Darjeeling".)

I have been to London,
And I have been to France,
I have seen a hundred
Thousand people dance,
Now everything is counted,
And all my deals are done,
And all my chips are in,
And all my cards laid down.

Now me and Bobby Dylan,
We climbed the apple tree,
And we threw down all the apples
For the whole world to see,
Now everything is counted,
And all the deals are done,
And all the chips are in,
And all the cards laid down.

I heard someone laughing,
And I heard a baby cry,
I saw fish upon the water,
And an eagle in the sky,
Now everything is counted,
And every deal is done,
And all the chips are in,
And all the cards laid down.

A rider he is coming,
For the living and the dead,
His voice a two-edged sword,
His shirt of golden thread,
Angel’s wings upon his back,
And a halo ‘round his head,
He is riding on a great white horse,
And he goes from town to town,
To see that everything is counted,
And all the cards laid down.

I have seen you in your cities,
I have watched you in your towns,
I’ve seen people talking in the streets,
And lying on the ground,
And where will you be standing,
At the setting of the sun,
When everything is counted,
And all your deals are done?
And what will be your reckoning,
When the sun goes down,
When everything is counted,
And all your cards laid down?

Dream Of A Nun In A Yellow Habit

There’s a nun in the attic,
She wears a yellow habit,
She communicates through a knot hole in the floor,
When she gets mad
She paces,
She paces,
Her habit becomes brighter as she paces,
Bright light streams down through the hole and
Her rosary clanks against the wall,
Not because of lovingkindness,
It’s because shes mad,
She becomes incoherent,
Talking in tongues,
Ranting and raving
About how she doesn’t like yellow,
Around Christmas time she calms down and
The pacing stops,
Prayers can be heard through the hole in the floor,
The clack of rosary beads is the only other sound.

There Is An Ocean In My Eye

A giant fish just swam across my line of vision,
A grouper it was with sleepy eyes,
My eye is now an aquarium of oceanic beauty,
With squid and octopus,
Hammerheads and swordfish,
Narwhal and sea cucumber,
A bed of kelp waves in the current,
When my eye blinks,
Jellyfish appear and the coral reef
Of rods and cones of the retina
Is home to darting fluorescent seahorses,
Then with my eye closed,
Patterns of multicolored lights show me
The currents of the warm sea,
And I become resilient
To the pounding of the waves.

Dream Of The Great Kansas Ocean

It was once said that Kansas has no port,
Further, when all the good wine is gone,
The port is left,
An easy way to remember starboard is right,
Right or wrong,
We are still landlocked here
With no appreciation of shark infested waters,
No colorful reefs,
We can’t even sing a good sea chantey,
Or tell tales of weeping sea-wives waiting
For the lost seaman’s return,
We must be content to sit here
Convincing ourselves that the wheatfields
Are oceans of golden waves,
That the shark’s teeth in Western Kansas
Are yesteryear’s real harvest,
When men once sailed,
And the harpoon line sang,
And the people of Kansas
Were glad when their ship came in.

Skunk Dream Entropy

A couple of crows plucked morsels of rotting flesh
From the deer carcass on the highway shoulder,
69 Highway where the route marker signs have to be bolted down,
Or they end up in a photo of Pigpen in California
Or a freshman girl’s dorm room at KU,
The state crew replaces the signs but they just disappear again,
An old pickup pulled up and a bearded man saws off the antlers,
A trophy for his own dormitory
Later on his arms won’t be able to lift a fly,
His chainsaw stilled by the rigor mortis of the deer,
His pickup stalled out near the barn,
4 X 4 = 15 scrawled on the side
His brain unable to cipher anymore,
His dog runs past him chasing a skunk
That has sprayed her cloud of greenish yellow jazz,
The stink of it more than the old geezer could bare,
But he lifted up the antlers anyway
Finding a place for them with the others,
All antlers except for one set of shark teeth
He bought at a movie theater,
He plodded back to the old farmhouse
Pausing to look at the dead squirrel hanging in the hedge tree,
“Entropy,” he thought to himself
As he got ready for church.