I don't backspace when I type, and I don't do disclaimers when I hold my stuff out to the world.
Wait, whoops.
Here's to those iconoclast wracks!
America's moving scars that scuttled across its groaning back,
those lonely dresden poets with nothin' but a buck and a fuck not to give.
Those endless miles of sagged rubber,
Those restless nights of sweat and paradise,
those darker chapters of isolated fury,
the unholy beholdings of the holy lands-
Here's to them! here's to them...
Here's a toast to the cats who didn't give a damn!
I raise my keyboard, I raise my tacking fingers out the windows,
I raise it out to the world,
out to a world that I am yet to know;
to one that begs me like a whimpering lover
begs me to join her in her
troubles
paradises
broken roads
and beat cities
whose glassy eyes and pouted lips beg up to me
all because of your words.
Dean Moriarty, I think of you.
I think of Dean Moriarty,
No comments:
Post a Comment