Dear Mr. Kerouac,

Dear Jack,

Where is your Denver?

Was it cremated by fluorescence?

I see no prophets “blowing”,

Or awakened gents unkempt.

 

No bursts of LIFE,

Aside from ill-convicted drunks.

And polished plastic, but chrome-finished, coffee shops

With bullsnot French de-co-rum.

 

Oh Jack, Gawd Jack!

Has your pièce lost it’s flavor?

The simple chaos of Neal and Holmes,

Running untamed and classy-wild.

Melothematic Allen’s doldrums?!

 

No cries of death,

Though the reaper swings the blade.

With organic, handy prepackaged memories

A manifesto to be bade.

 

Yes Jack,

I’m indifferent.

For you see you cause me think

You abandoned Denver(now abandoned you)

Duh! pardon the stink.