Now that it's dust and ashes
now that it's human skin
Here's to you Bob Dylan
a poem for the laurels you win
Sincerest form of flattery
is imitation they say
I've broke my long line down
to write a song your way
Those "chains of flashing images"
that came to you at night
were highest farm boy's day dreams
that glimpse the Angels light.
And tho the dross of wisdom's come
and left you lone on earth
remember when the Angels call
your soul for a new birth
It wasn't dope that gave you truth
nor money that you stole
— was God himself that entered in
shining your heavenly soul.
— Allen Ginsberg, "On Reading Dylan's Writings," 1973
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