What is my job at end of day
All hand or claw will clench my teeth
and make the enemy of me
Sicken with the thought

Yum and dumb
I am Kerouac at Verdun
I rhyme and dine
and live and die
and speak and shout
and sputter and cry
and happy
and sad
and glad
oh man


oh man when upon I reach that hue
somewhere between vermilion and due

east of where I remember clear
Santa Clara and Oakland then

Everything shifts into red
I've been in this maw of waking dread

Since half past eleven.

Coming out and going in,
Breathing
IN out
back again

Waiting, waiting
Slumber soon
Awake again,
Back at noon

Roll and roll repeat and pleat
I cannot write ******* sonatas or Beethoven I cant even rhyme a ******* word to itself with all this technology nobody will hear me