Death Continues in our Steps

(For Mr. Dylan)

Death is in all our paths; we laugh, we spin, we
try (vainly) to control what is not for us to control.

I am amused by life's relentlessness -- her lashing ways:
accosting me more than the crime warranted. What of

this? Oh, Death, thou art truly persistent. You are
unavoidable; only fools and harlots take no heed of you.

But me? I am always eavesdropping on the chatter of ill counsel,
those forked, cretinous tongues. What babble they make!

Oh, Mr. Dylan, it is true, as your gong once declared: Idiot Wind;
it is amazing that they can breathe at all.