Bi-coastal Kerouac flaked out fast.
Thick wads of greenbacks
changed hands in a flash,
like always some poor freak
paid straight through the nose.
The jewelry joint heist worked like a charm!
I’m sitting in warm sand
one quite content crook,
cool daiquiri in hand
thinking of Jack
and his black rusted out
Pontiac.
The Catholic sacraments bloom
beauty and magic
while the big bad church
has been damn tragic.
Poets and priests,
thieves and healers
which life will you work--
con artist of dark muck
or shining lover-feeler?
No comments:
Post a Comment