dav

dav

The book shop owner in Xinxiang
gave me Bob Dylan’s harmonica today.
At least he said it was Bob’s,
and that was good enough for me.

So I played a tune,
and it was like it used to be.
When my head was high
and I was a king.

Before the signs of the cross,
cold and blunt
and things that worry me.

Then everything had to be replaced,
and I forgot about being a king.
One future was traumatic enough.