Kerouac,
you quit on me—
let the bottle win,
bled out from the belly.
What happened to Ti Jean:
lost in the city,
in the ship’s bowels
brewing madness poetry?
Jack,
when did the motor of thirst
drive you into
the Duluoz dust of myth?
Legend became life,
a deceased sonic discord:
Bixby Canyon nightmares
stealing sanity from spontaneity.
Memory Babe,
how did you forget the golden rule
— never stop—
sacred scripture
of automotive heart.
If only you left behind
the sweet wine;
rewound to reckless thighs,
joual goodbyes—
the Paradise mask
that knew no bounds.
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