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Pop Culture Was it a Harley, Dylan rode away his genius upon? Since, to prattle out lyrics empty, not telling anymore? Of us, and what we have in store? A Harley would make it right, image-wise, you know. Give the newsman a sign-off glimpse it was all fine. All settled in and doing better now, that runaway mind. The poet of an age, looking like an Indian (not the one perched on the hood of a Pontiac, but a Rolling Stone's homage.) Lost to a culture instead of a culture lost to him, entwined in momentary minutes of memory insensory. And pitiful us, still catching up to golden truths showered upon us by a lavish love I looked so hard to find amid so many wrinkles. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2006-09-13 15:40:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi James....just stopping by to read a few poems posted this month and I wanted to let you know I enjoyed this poem......good images projected of the artist and the Harley.......lI'm not much into music but the name is familiar of course.....thanks again, take care and God Bless, Claire