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Eidolon

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Down in fame’s flood, down an alley, down
wind of now, elegant in self-denial,
an Iron Range wraith junking cue cards, an ideal,
an idol before which the Zeitgeist kneeled.

Dylan, named for a poet named from an old
tale of the child who crawled to the sea, this land
is yours: the black plain the needle
ploughs from lip to label; be all, end all.


Source: Poetry (May 2010)

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This poem originally appeared in the May 2010 issue of Poetry magazine

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Eidolon

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