kerouac torch.

tom walked in

with the bouquet

of blazing 

sacrosanct truths

the first sermons 

he could ever really

get behind.

he passed his fever

off to joe, who then

cooed the dharma

through my soul.

jack would be 91 today;

peaked at 25,

geriatric by 30--

the richest poor man,

the denim clad bodhisattva 

to an eight-measure

saxophone lead homilized

what it is to live!

even through the deepest

tunneling blues ya gotta 

stick it through to see the reds

the whites and greens 

waiting, waving from

the other side,

calling you over for

a drink and a dance

to an old record.

last i've seen it,

brooklyn (from denver)

carried it to new york

city and then back

again.

i pray it never flickers

until america's aglow

once more.