kerouac in the highest

long time i've prayed
that old jazz soul spared
this prison of rebirth,
just a taste of the milk
and cream of heaven
to soothe your road rubbed
bones

oh, how your feet have bled!
beat christ, how the earth's
reclaimed your leaking life
for its own! it's kissed your soles!

the grass was drunk on you!
the mountains forever
peaking and peaking
there is no down!

your final death--
my anachronistic soul
despairs
i will have never caught
the madness first hand
but i feel you in the trees
in the sidewalks
in the stone skipped ponds
burning,  burning
through starspecked skies.