Kerouac

       
         
         
         
Thursday        
         
visit the grave        
of Kerouac        
         
sad smiles        
         
whiskey tears        
         
chase tiny creatures        
flying on wings of          
silk moonbeams          
         
walk along the        
snarling north        
shore        
         
kiss Athena with        
barbed lips        
         
our fathers dead        
wearing the echos        
of war        
         
old mother's dying        
in ancient beds of        
grief        
         
lesson unlearned        
sit like a crown of          
thorns upon the head          
of a blue saviour        
         
walls do not ask        
for love        
         
trees do not scream        
for hope        
         
the skies do not        
pretend to exist        
         
on an old dirt road in        
west Texas, history's      
anguish in the dust,      
remembering some    
long ago forgotten    
American frontier    
     
fed by promises    
of blood and  
gold  
    
fed by manifest    
destiny of      
conquest      
     
fed by ghost    
of:     
         
the electric west        
coast roaring with        
manic impulses        
         
the monolithic        
east wandering        
out of industrial          
shadows of factories,        
railroad and rust        
         
the Midwest long,        
lanky and sleeping        
beneath a cornfed        
sun        
         
born,        
reborn,        
born        
again        
         
then turns it's        
head to the        
road weary
past        
         
pen wed to        
paper        
         
bottle          
presses          
lips        
         
not even the        
immortals        
can dream          
forever        
         
legends        
die        
         
our hero's fall        
         
our heros          
fall        
         
our        
hero's          
f        
a        
l        
l