Tarantula

by Bob Dylan

  the chamber of commerce all come in—

  each member carrying hand grenades—

  everything turns into blood—excpt for

  the jukebox, a stranger wearing a—

  calendar, & a postcard of a greek

  building … which the owner of the

  place has left on top of the radiator

  by mistake/ the play now begins … it

  is all in the past … i will not be so insulting as to write it for you

  Seems Like a Black Nite Crash

  between the shrieking mattress in the kitchen & Time, a mysterious weekly—Tao—a fingertip on his chin, his knees knocking together—Tao—he shows the inside of his mouth to a column of faces “does this mean you must take a nap today?” & Phil Silvers eating a banana—he is inside of the column of faces—Tao is quiet & Phil pokes Duff the Hero—a miser from the Aegean Sea—a vast desert in his head—he has plenty of self confidence & lets yokels test bombs in his brain—“love is a ghost thing” says Duff “it goes right thru you” Tao strains—he looks almost pornographic “some tonsils!” says Phil, who now wears long suspenders & tells Duff to keep up the self confidence “self confidence is deceiving” says Mr. O’toole—a husband of questionable virtue “it gives people without balls a sense of virility” “does your wife own a cow?” says Phil, who has now turned into an inexpensive Protestant ambassador from Nebraska & who speaks with a marvelous accent “what do you mean does my wife own a cow?” “are you from Chicago then?” asks the ambassador … Tao’s face—meanwhile—becomes so big—it disappears “where’d he go?” says Duff—who’s not so much of a hero anymore but rather a jolly youth that hates degenerates & is supposed to be in school anyway … Mr. O’toole—falls out of his chair “i must find some railroad tracks—i must put my ear to the tracks—i must listen for a train”—the column of faces—all together now—a munching chorus “DONT GET KILLED NOW”—repeat—“dont get killed now” … yes & between this mattress shrieking & that mysterious weekly lay the slave counties—Doris Day gone &. Pacific fog—a Studebaker in twilight—crash—& breaking down the honkytonk doors & strange left handed moonmen—from Arkansas & Texas & vagabonds with girlie magazines from Reed College—cellars & Queens—they all shouting “watch me Tao—watch me—i’m high—watch me now!” … that lonesome feeling—paralyzing—that lonesome feeling—or aretha—my mama didnt raise no fool—i have nothing new to add to that feeling … slide on vomit—better’n working with a shovel—Reject—God Bless Holy Phantomism & damn the farewell parties—statistic books—the politicians . . the column of faces—all together now—raising the flag & staring up to a hole in it—chanting “it’s halloween! can Tao come out & play?”—getting no reaction & shouting louder—all in unison now—“IT’S HALLOWEEN … CAN TAO COME OUT & PLAY?”

  give up—give up—the ship is lost: go

  back to san bernardino—stop trying to

  organize the crew—it’s every man for

  himself—are you a man or a self? when

  the coast guard gets there, stand up

  proudly & point—dont be a hero—everybody’s

  a hero—be different—dont be a conformist—

  forget about all those sea shanties—just

  stand up & say “san bernardino” in a deep

  monotone … everybody will get the message

  your benefactor

  Smoky Horny

  Chug A Lug—Chug A Lug

  Hear Me Hollar Hi Dee Ho

  he was propped in the crutch of an oak tree—looking down—singing “there’s a man going round taking names” indeed—i nod howdy—he nods howdy back “well he took my mother’s name—lef’ me there in pain” i, who am holding a glass of sand in one hand & a calf’s head in the other—i look up & say “are you hungry?” & he say “there’s a man going round taking names” & i say “good nuff” & keep walking—his voice rings thru the valley—it sounds like a telephone—it is very disturbing—“you need anything up there?”—i’m going to town” he shakes his head “well he took my sister’s name & i aint never been the same” “right-o” i say—tie my shoelace & keep walking—then i turn & say “if you need any help getting down, just you come to town & tell me” he doesnt even hear—“well he took my uncle’s name & you know he wasnt to blame” “groovy” i say & continue my way to town “ it couldnt’ve been more’n a few hours later when i happened to be passing by again—in the spot where the tree was, a lightbulb factory now stood—“did there used to be a guy here in a tree?” i yelled up to one of the windows—“are you looking for work?” was the reply . . it was then when i decided that marxism did not have all the answers

  why are you so frightened of

  being embarrassed? you spend a lot of

  time on the toilet dont you? why

  dont you admit it? why are you so

  embarrassed to be frightened?

  your uncle

  Matilda

  Paradise, Skid Row & Maria Briefly

  fatty Aphrodite’s mama—i bend to you … & with sex mad eternity at my vegetable shadow—i, wiping my hands on the horse’s neck—the horse burping & you of the Indiana older brother—he who whips you with his belt & you who does not look for reason to your torture & i want your horizontal tongue—within Reflex—the perfect doom & these cruel nitemares where brickmasons introduce me to hideous connections & Marx Brothers grunting NO QUIERO TU SABIDURIA & your thighs be half awake & me so Sick so Sick of these lovers in Biblical roles—“so youre out to save the world are you? you impostor—you freak! youre a contradiction! youre afraid to admit youre a contradiction! youre misleading! you have big feet & you will step on yourself all the people you mislead will pick you up! you have no answers! you have just found a way to pass your time! without this thing, you would shrivel up & be nothing—you are afraid of being nothing—you are caught up in it—it’s got you!” i am so Sick of Biblical people