Kerouac Was a Leaner

The only interesting ones are the angry ones.
The leaners,
Up against the wall;
The ones that don’t smile,
The brooding figures;
They don’t cough or laugh.
The moody ones;
Mad to live, angry to die.
They want everything and nothing.
Chasing ghosts and catching dreams.
You are one of them that never yawns.
Mad to breathe, mad to talk.
They never say anything you’d hear on the streets
The hero that stands tall, alone,
Against society’s waves and tides,
The push and pull of nature,
Watching chaos and people through the night.
A mad one like that:
Sighting it and hearing it,
Breathing it in,
The rain on your skin,
The snow falling into your hair,
Stretching and spinning.
Tasting mercury streams and diamond skin.
The mad ones never choose,
The mad ones are never solid,
Never fluid.
Always standing,
Never still…

Refusing Disassociation

On the ground is where you find the happy ones.
Down, low, very low near the ground.
They are disassociated from the dark.
The ones that smile;
They yawn, laugh, and speak,
The boring ones,
The ones that can’t kiss
They plant flowers in the ground,
Very low, in the ground.
The happy ones are too common to live…
They don’t know how to love.
And they don’t know how to hate.
You recognize what went wrong,
But it’s your secret.
They can’t dream, They don’t know how to sing.

Semi-Righteous Judgment

America! YOU will be judged!
Not by gods, not by titans…
Disease runs rampant in these parts.
America, this is the land of dreams.
The place where people advance a step forward,
They dilute success.
You want to call their bluff,
But who would want to talk to them?
America, you are a broken heart.
You say, “Don’t take any guff from these swine.”
Neighbors whisper words of decay from their mouths.
America, ruining all that’s wrong,
America, your eyes are bloodshot.
They have seen the home of the damned…
America, you can’t create anything here.
99 dreams dance on your tongue…
You have one body to live, a single chance.

May You Not Rest...

Tonight you’re busy and you’re all business.
You’re dressed to kill;
You’re wearing a slick jacket,
Stepping into the light,
You are a seeker of beauty.
Girls walk dignified, despite the forgetful nights,
They walk in crystalline clear and sleep in haze.
Spending days, wishing for time,
Wishing they could take back the kiss they sent away.
You call out her name and you ease her pain;
Don’t let her rush you,
You just wanted to know her name.
They can’t blame you for trying to keep warm.

She’s your mad one; she’s your leaner, standing against the wall.
Beauty, she is your lover.
Together, she and you are beautiful.
Your tempest eyes like lightning,
Her porcelain skin like silk,
Meeting under mercury, foggy nights.
Your voice like velvet,
Her bone breaking beauty,
You are kissing to transcend.
Meeting in rose beds and sanctuaries.
You worship her diamond hands,
And you scorn her aristocrat eyes.

You whisper in her ear:
“Fear me, dear.”
All you want is to break Beauty down,
Watch Beauty shiver and waste away.
Crippling her and taking her tears.
You’ll steal the diamonds from her eyes
Your collar’s soaked in insanity’s sadness,
Satin hair tangled in your hands,
Her restless palms grab at you,
Be with her as she falls.

But, your eyes are only for her.
Ducking in and out of skylight storms…
You stutter, “Whisper, for me, your name once more.”
Her quicksilver kiss on your lips, Beauty at your fingertips…
Broken and begging for forgiveness,
But nothing was done wrong.

The Absolute Truth of the Martyr

GOD! Rest his soul...
His wretchedness,
His breathing beauty.
Standing against the tide,
Against the mediocrity.
Bells and bolts split the sky,
Fallen is our hero.
Not dead, not living, only a ghost.
A specter of electricity,
Roaming alleys and catacombs
Looking for beauty and telephones,
Philosopher kings without time.

So you ask angrily,
“Tell me, just what must I believe.
Teach me, what, exactly, must I feel?”