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…