I saw the ghost of Jack Kerouac
Walking an empty highway at night
I walked with the ghost of Carl Sandburg
In the ancient streets of Charleston
I sang with the ghost of Woody Guthrie
Along Rocky Mountain trials, through Yellowstone
I played music with the ghost of Pete Seeger
On my guitar, around a campfire
I read the words of my poems with the ghost of Allen Ginsberg
Quietly, in the dark, alone in an empty room