Arrival Without End
Bob Dylan steps
into a wind-squinting Americana painting
Chronos’ sinkholes open up
around the lutefisk-like Nobel laureate
with all the stages of his ages trailing
like the roaring vortex dances of airplanes
behind the fuselage’s ILS approach down toward the runway
at Kallax
while extensive Columbia Records attempts
continue to be made
to mix new good medicines from old tinctures,
with well-revolved songs in new combinations,
pressing the last drops of raw profit out of the bard’s oeuvre
He keeps arriving mythically in New York,
as Jesus continues to arrive in Gethsemane,
in the reassuring eternity of a motion standing still,
in which I futilely try to steer time
by leaning the pen into its heavy flow
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-03-17 at 10:16
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