Thursday, October 24, 2019
~ Look What Came In The Morning Mail ~
Somewhere in the Stream
126 Washburn Ave.
Santa Cruz, CA
Hocus Locus Focus. Pocus
Back in the 20th century he
was dating a chorine on the side, he'd
meet her at the stage door with an armful.
So he was blooey for a girl with shapely
legs, so buttons. Of florigens. From Brooklyn.
Dating in the sense that made sense back in
those days, radio sense in the carbon
sense on the bedside table. No remote,
nothing clamorous, nothing to get to
the point of, other than the two Jacks.
Kerouac was Bob, Spicer, Ray. Live on
The Great Black Way, as live as Kafka's ears,
Cocteau's smoke rings, Mayakovsky's, for
example, ascot. After they'd hunted
down Guevara and mutilated his
corpse — well, he couldn't get to sleep with her,
he couldn't get to sleep without her. Nets
kept him awake, the passions of heroes.