165 Shows a Year

The poem lay down her head.

Sure Bob Dylan\'s always on the road

And no song is really ever performed the same

Blah blah blah.

 

Where\'s that get him?

I like him more when he\'s not there

She pursed.

 

Then her dreams

 

Knives

Speckled wings of dead birds

Blood on the toilet seat ...

 

I used to be fragmented

But now I\'m whole

And I\'ll cancel all of my appointments

For haircuts forever.