DANCING AT THE TRAFFIC CONE SHRINE:
Some kind of spiritual axiom. Better than a lie of the mind
or a kick in the teeth.
As voices arrive falls silent with the news, hand-to-mouth.
Stone cold stone, not alone beneath a familiar street lamp.
A car emerges from the dark laughing, parks up, look away.
The night remaining innocent, trembles. Witnessing repeats.
Bob Dylan – Desolation Row (Alternate Take)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 7: No Direction Home.