A sprinkling of Dylan in my latest piece written exclusively for FVR…



 Looking in the mirror he sees his own reflection

Also, someone else

his father?

Same facial expressions

Same syntax

Same desires

His great worry, carrying a crow on one shoulder a bag on the other

“Your Daddy he’s an outlaw. And a wanderer by trade. He’ll teach you how to pick and choose, and how to throw the blade. He oversees his kingdom, so no stranger does intrude. His voice it tumbles as he calls out for another plate of food. One more cup of coffee for the road.”

He’s getting old or older, but it is all the same.

When will wisdom kick in so he can learn the game

When self-care presides over the empire of blame

Silver hair

Same hairline

Same destiny

The crow’s song of infamy

“To the valley below.”

He smiles, all his own teeth

Flicks off the radio, the news too bleak


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