Dear Mr. Kerouac,
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.
For you see you cause me think
You abandoned Denver(now abandoned you)
Duh! pardon the stink.