Kerouac Attack

The light of the downing sun flickers palm tree shadows on the wall in the shapes of twisted bar windows, giant banana leaves sweeping in the breeze, in this moment I am peace, so peaceful with my lonesome traveler, Jack Kerouac on the top of Seattle mountains and the Avalokiteshvara bear there beside him, invisible, invincible, and yes I am there too, with the coffee boiling black and bubbles dark brown, I am there, in the scraps of torn wet books shredded by mountain mice in the pouring rain.  I am there, in the fresh buckets of snow and chilled morning sunlight.  I am there with my family in Colorado watching them sleep, watching my father toss and turn in perpetual dream, I am there under the Midwestern American skies watching the stars shine so clearly, not a cloud in sight, on Kev's birthday I am there to sing. Listening to Moby, In my heart, in my head, earbuds spread the tune, I am there with the wisdom of the bright moon, the pale sliver of peace hanging night light of the world, I am there with T.S. Eliot’s yellow smoke curled about the windowpanes, the oyster shells, yes, the coffee spoons, yes I am there, measuring my life, biding this precious time digging for seashells and calling mermaids to sing to me dreams of the Disney undersea, I am there with Robert Frost digging his son’s grave, listening to blue birds and babbling broken brooks fade into forests, and I am there with him in the night, when he walks alone looking into other people’s abodes and wondering, I am the youthful face he turns to, and I am there that visionary, that luminous clock the moon waiting for him in the black bedroom.  Yes, in my heart, in my heart I am there, I am all of these things, I am a fresh spring air William C. Williams come to share new life, I am there, I am everywhere as God and God is within me, that feeling free, loving just to be, being just to love, and prayers for the luck floating just above each move I make, constantly directed, not knowing which path to take, but just the option of so many paths, so many people to love, so many things to have, magic two hands and fingers, and I am there with Benjamin in his pornographic pieces of me, Marquis de Sade decipherings, I am there with his big bear arms, his strong charm enchanting, I am there with all the raging and ranting, political rallies coasting east, police forcing mase on wallstreets, I am there too.  I could be you, could be so Van Goh blushing blue or mossy Picassy green, dirty or clean, anything, I could.  I am.  There with the wine-red blood that Christ bled, under the tree enlightening Buddha, I am Moses parting the waters, I am the epic poet plotters weaving the loom, I am every sailor reading the moon and stars to tell us where we are. It’s in my heart, in my heart.  Working together, whether alone or apart, oh Frost I am there. Oh Eliot, my air, prelude to a thousand gold-flecked stairs, walk me up the pinnacled temple to share spectacular views, we can stare for hours, absorb the potent peace powder, then go home and snooze on the couch, like my little brother, mouth slobber one eye slit barely open.  I am every wrecked and reborn lover, I am turning into my mother and it makes me proud.  Downward dog, the yoga mat, I am the mad hatter’s purple hat, the caterpillar smoking sheesh, the mushroom cap, ecstatic release, I am that perfect peace.  I am the visionary.  And you are with me there, you are with me here, Dr. Suess trees everywhere, Shel Silverstein streaks in my hair.  I am there. I am there.  I am there.  So much literature I can hardly bare to let it go.  Hardly know how to breathe when the magic sneaks up on me like this.  How filled I am with the people I miss.  How twisting it is, this traveler’s business, this seeing the globe, this longing for home.  How twisting.  How, oh lord, am I even existing?