The Repeating of Bob Dylan

Watching Bob Dylan, not conforming into the system
of a cause, surfing channels between
a rock'n roll show, searching for a new lead
vocal, the voice of folk fuses itself into
the age of culturing-clashing of abundance.

The fusion of tradition and unpredictability
claims to be new.
The fusion of lyrics and melody
dancing the tango of classical rhythm
in the free verse of Taoism.

And the voice of Dylan echoes like a haunting
serenade, breaking the tone in beautiful
lyrics, stabbing the establishment
that craves the mass gain of capital.
The improvisation in the syncopation
bounce like notes on a string.

Moving in the ambiguous passion,
uncertain of its circumstance,
the consequences of will conjure
the forms of it, consecrating the texture
of its serenity to the chaotic mass.

The cliché of the old rotates in a full circle
to repeat itself again, giving new life
to the past, a fresh breath in the air.
The tone of Bob Dylan lingers
on in the syncopating mass to repeat itself again.

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