Finding Character

 

I was Bob Dylan
I was an honourary Funk Brother
I was David Byrne; Robert Smith; Stevie Nicks.

 

I was a country singing poet,
punk rocking street scamp
and cold, northern, troubled soul.

 

A New York mad-man,
stumbling down cobbled streets
in Amsterdam,
where the lights have heartbeats,
falling down, helped up
by a looming face
from the clouds. No more.

 

Fingers drum monotone on desks
and I'm drawn by the sexual scrawl
of the secretary's pen; a woman's power;
the prowess of a lioness
lying in wait
and I'm back again -

wandering my own head,
wondering.

Reviews

[BMEaton]

Really nicely done dude, the last two lines make an excellent ending!