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alice-weaver
American Working slowly through a year of uncertain identity with the help of poetry.
In the fall we were so ready to die under christmas lights left up for months next to dried-out fountains and mismatched metal furniture Sweaty, we baptized each other with iced coffee incense and revolution so careless and unguarded as to never feel lonesome
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Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
To D.S.
driving sunset today stuttering so i stopped for gas filling up watch the pollen over a woman and her minivan pollen like a swarm of bees under godly clouds i wish I were already old and dead thunderstorm now over tiny America before we all lose it i drove away from home at the most summer-time straight past balmy and slow pollen and just here then just here on the corner naked before the glory of the driving sunset
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Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
Untitled
Jack Kerouac made my momma hitch down the west coast from Seattle to Albaquerque in the 1970s but she never made it to Mexico Jack Kerouac made my dadda struggle through an English major only to dig ditches and deliver mail twenty years later Jack Kerouac made me who I am today a Dharma *** looking for any highway outta here to Frisco to New York City to subsist solely on coffee and searching for Nirvana and being forever unsatisfied with the name I was chained to at birth people ought to choose their own Jack Kerouac made who I am tomorrow completely impossible to discern but he filled me with blank paper and handed me a pen and Thoreau the great Transcendentalist made me write in the dark but Jack Kerouac made me transcend the ******** and write for nothing for Buddha for smoky haze for the turtle that walks with the world on its back I may now never stop looking for me in the streets of Denver to ask me where I would be without Jack Kerouac
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Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
In Which I Blame Jack Kerouac