POEM FOR JACK KEROUAC
hurry along avenues inhabited by sensuous neon
time’s traffic, occupations, hours,
hurry through intrinsic american pinball machine
theatre of night’s anti-heroic rainfall on streets,
hurry along backroads of american anxiety
factories emerge anchored in steaming floodlights
at the edge of town
toll station’s exit 26 for howard johnson’s.
a new era awakens from the war drinking us
like wine drinks earth,
a new moment capturing eternity revisited
from the grave rising a new generation
a new advancing.
laughter and country ways continuing exodus
celebrating authentic abstract realism
defined as color innate for the brightening meadow.
i hear your sweet soul and exuberant celebrations
i weep for your long road saints who never weary
of empty landscape diminishing highways
dear jack Kerouac angel of hip nights
and starry latrines
we are tired of wandering from one place to another
our age has shifted and added to your hero
he is now a gangster without being an intellectual
a politician who plays russian roulette with the cost of living
a hobo disguised as a teeny-bopper
a lonely man marching off to a lonely war.
when will there ever be an end to the world’s troubles?
how quaint to have ridden boxcars in a boxcar era.
© Love-Cycles, 1973 - 2015