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Dylan Chelsea

by Dan Linn

On the White Horse riding bucking whiskey,
he would begin to die in Hotel Chelsea.
Sid and Nancy bloody heroin addiction,
engaged in auto erotic asphyxiation.

And Zimmerman would take the name for stage,
Phil Ochs would not retreat from public rage.
Surreal Burroughs in hallucination,
Cohen Hallelujah incantation.

Come drink the wine of garish Harlequin,
with painted smile and rude uplifted chin
if we give it all away to gain it all,
we make the literary margin call

Absinthe, creative juice and so, of poison.
This is not subjective realm of reason.
The trust of noble virgin innocence,
too young to cruel and angry tenderness.

Invoke the campfire shaman of excess,
in seeking of the quiet pool of process.
Too much, too soon, too close, to sun, and ruin,
Standing hands ablaze in inspiration.

It's not, it's snot, it's not, not snotty place.
Throw up, throw up, thrown up gifts of grace.
Can dance, can dance, can't dance, perhaps to sing.
Surely, Shirley, the timing is the thing.

Sickness, self-induced or brought to bear.
a head, and heart, and mind of 'ere all here.
Oracles inclined to want to injure,
those of circle most inclined to abjure.

And so then when the door is kicked quite through,
and you hope the muse might speak to you,
we cannot whisper to the ghosts in orders,
they linger by, invest at shallow borders.

I stand to celebrate our impotence,
to forgive ourselves indulging indolence.
Rely on verse and rhyme and not be famous,
like some vain asshole, or a Dylan Thomas.

Do not go quietly into Chelsea night,
That raging shadows be defined by light.
So, here is what we all came then to see.
This, the main event, at Cirque de Chelsea.

05/09/2011

Author's Note: i wrote this as tribute to the anniversary of a virtual build of the Hotel Chelsea in Second Life. I had been listening to recordings of Dylan Thomas performing his work, but I wasn't sure this was true to his style. I attempted Iambic pentameter, but went to the extreme of trying to read it for the ceremony in the intonation of what I has heard of Dylan Thomas readings. This may be an homage, or a horrible travesty. You decide for yourself.

Posted on 11/04/2011
Copyright © 2024 Dan Linn

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 11/04/11 at 11:50 AM

... outstanding.....

Posted by LK Barrett on 11/05/11 at 01:06 PM

The pacing, word choice, and driving meter simultaneously captures sentiment for the occasion and some of Dylan's bombastic nature...well done!...ty for the write...lk

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/27/11 at 08:28 AM

I agree with the others...excellent poem, rich vocabulary and construction. Sharp images. My first introduction to the Chelsea Hotel was from Leonard Cohen. It's also supposedly quite haunted. Little wonder with all that's gone on there, as you've so eloquently described.

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