dream .02

here driving down
84
on the road
to lowell, the birth
place and burial
grounds of
jack
kerouac, the "king
of the beats". to
the town he first
called home. a
king who
quitely satand
slowely went
mad, takeing his
body with
him. but why wasn't
allen
ginsberg king? being
the spokesperson he
was, bringing the other
beats together. or
burroughs?
being the older, almost
role model character. many
people could have
been king, but it was
kerouac, who disjected
(i suppose)
all he stood for
(in a way)
looking away from
the hippies who
followed
his adventures like
they were the
footsteps of a
jesus fiquer. growing
fat and
alone, speaking only
to his dear
mother.
---maybe it was meant
for kerouac to be
king. maybe burroughs
is the father to
the beats, and ginsberg
a brother to the
beats.
---once at the
gravesite i found
jack, waiting. we shared
a joint and a bottle
of wine. (we realized
nothing mattered at
all, there is no
difference between
the rich
and the poor)
we didn't have
to talk much, for
what was to be
said was
mutually known. though
neither of us knew
how many neals are
out there, stumblin down
, wanderin down
empty railroad tracks...
we wondered.
---when that time
came for us to both
go on our ways, we left
our bottle theere by
the stone for people
to see...
and what they saw of it was empty

Reviews

[Kelly A. Brown]

That was the most amazing poem I have read on here in a while.

I am with you---Kerouac is King. Ginsberg and Burroughs couldn't be kings.

He was truer in a way, more Bukowski-like (not in content or belief really but in other ways) because he didn't follow the crowd.

I wish I could share a bottle of wine with you at Jack's grave. ;)