In the shadow of those times,
he was the times.
He became his breath,
said Allen Ginsberg.
How else to become
instrument of the Universe,
mouthpiece of Everything,
stepping forward
beyond confidence,
act impeccable,
guitar chords like whiskey
voice of sober truth,
a product of the age
who led
our crop of souls
farther toward ourselves
than we could go ourselves.
Through what harmonica of consciousness
did he bend God's thoughts?
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/talkin-mo-bob-dylan/
