"neal" poems
I lie on my back at midnight
hearing the marvelous strange chime
of the clocks, and know it's mid-
night and in that instant the whole
world swims into sight for me
in the form of beautiful swarm-
ing m u t t a worlds-
everything is happening, shining
Buhudda-lands,
bhuti
blazing in faith, I know I'm
forever right & all's I got to
do (as I hear the ordinary
extant voices of ladies talking
in some kitchen at midnight
oilcloth cups of cocoa
cardore to mump the
rinnegain in his
darlin drain-) i will write
it, all the talk of the world
everywhere in this morning, leav-
ing open parentheses sections
for my own accompanying inner
thoughts-with roars of me
all brain-all world
roaring-vibrating-I put
it down, swiftly, 1,000 words
(of pages) compressed into one second
of time-I'll be long
robed & long gold haired in
the famous Greek afternoon
of some Greek City
Fame Immortal & they'll
have to find me where they find
the t h n u p f t of my
shroud bags flying
flag yagging Lucien
Midnight back in their
mouths-Gore Vidal'll
be amazed, annoyed-
my words'll be writ in gold
& preserved in libraries like
Finnegans Wake & Visions of Neal
12.7k
You, saying love
You, shaman's road
You, a bird
You, a yellow sun
You, Emperor
You, lovely door
You, my Walt Whitman
You, Neal
You, Sal Paradise
You, Pancho Villa
You, La Revolución Mexicana
You, navajo
You, the border
You, the river
You, chicana
You, Mafia
You, redemption
You, poetry
You, Salvador Dalí
You, Picasso
You, stereo
You, love
You, ***
You, youth
You, America
You, América
You, español
You, english
You, country side
You, cat
You, fire
You, books
You, E. E. Cummings
You, Bukowski
You, Octavio Paz
You, Coca-Cola
You, Coke
You, India
You, Mississippi
You, jazz
You, Miles
You, Davis
You, water
You, rain
You, lagoon
You, chest
You, car
You, road
You, reading
You, lines
You, Paris
You, Baudelaire
You, Poe
You, japanese
You, katana
You, Mishima
You, gun
You, rifle
You, cam
You, can
You, can't
You, Durango
You, Arizona
You, desert
You, gonzo
You, mezcal
You, alcohol
You, drive
You, crush
You, alive
You, again
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Neal Cassady
February 8 ,1926 - February 4 , 1968
San Miguel D'Alene , Mexico
Dead from extreme exposure
Four days short of forty-two
Only fitting , next to a railroad track
He had many words to haul back
The wolf sleeps next to the silver rail
Howling at a silver moon that fell
I see here he drove a ******* Cadillac
Through the San Francisco streets
With the top down
Smiling free , it was meant to be
Life is a quasar
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
Hello everybody. My name is Neal and I'm your tour guide.
The first creature that we will see is a koala, to your right. Do you know that koala's have fingerprints very similar to those of humans?
So much so that their prints have been mistaken for a human's at crime scenes?
Anyways, this leads us to ask some very important questions: are methods of finding criminals therefore unreliable? Is it truly possible to avoid imprisoning those that are innocent? Is reality merely an allusion?
Or, more importantly, was it my boyfriend John with the good fashion sense that took my hairbrush? Or was it that little ***** Bernard that is hiding in the top left corner?
Anyways, to your left you'll see our world renowned snail tank. Snails can sleep for up to three years at a time....
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
Priti Patel's quote on EU migration - whatever it was...
list of common surnames: cropper, cross, crouch,
dabney, dalton, daniels, eads, easton, eccleston,
fairclough, farnham, fay, gardner, garey, garfield,
haight, hanes, hailey, ibbott, irvin, isaacson,
jack, jackson, jacobs, kay, keen, kelsey,
lacey, lacy, lamar, macey, mann, marchand,
neal, nelson, neville... sure pati japati patel -
i'll be an albino in Gujarat
if your play the sitar in a sari;
but your name sounds a bit migrant
revealing, what a weird 'back of the bus'
you seem to stand on -
you want the Mongolians resurrected?
i swear we were being ousted in line
of what Queen Sheba said to Solomon:
'olive skinned throughout the geography
and the unwelcome green men on
sponged-knickers creaming for an ******
a french dessert...'
yes pretty prior, you found home on a
continent when half of the european nations
didn't practice colonial antics -
i guess it's easier to pick on them.
but with a Patel surname you sound british
already, the great experiment worked
the anaesthetic of former colonialism
numbed via recreational Ketamine use
really numbed the skull and jaw mandibles -
i hate, i hate being conscripted into
post-colonial affairs of "why it all failed"
what a waste of the urban hubs of
Manchester or Liverpool -
where once artistic expression thrived -
i hate these post-colonial societies,
it's as if they were castrated en masse,
and they're wondering why no one has a permanent
suntan in scandinavia - maybe the raw herring diet -
cinnamon up your *** magician's trick with
space between fudge of digestion, disappearing trick
but then the cough that blinds you sweetly -
i guess post-colonial nationalism wanted to
listen to non-colonial nationalism -
a former migrant like pretty plated smell
olive skinned exploited inversion of angers
but dunked a footstep into a trip-up
with non-colonial nations -
a bit like the greek bail-out - pretty patel
is a name least likely associated with migration;
you teasing the beast out?
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
With fierce eyes turned towards the dawn
A tightly balled fist rose to the heavens
Parting smiles, carbon particles, and atoms
Collided and separated
And in the split of an atom second
The world caved into her mouth
Diffused with saliva-like opinions
And spit into the ocean fusion
A tear of wish amongst the sea foam rocks
Dashed by the sharp pangs of truth
Cutting deeper into her gaze
I fell out of expectation
Without a breath of hope under the torrent
Faltering a rescue of a retracted hand
Mirrored to the sky and sea
A lover gone to a memory
© 2015 Neal Emanuelson
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
Here now
the pain of love’s bitter reality… surrounds me
But how
can they be better if love always leaves…
every time? (Lost in a fevered dream)
Every time.
But if we lie now, will we make it?
If it hurts, surely I can take it…
Is this really what we both need?
Is someone better who you’re dying to see
or is someone better who you’re trying to be?
Love, now
You’ve poisoned everything in my reprieve…
with insecurities
And now
You’ve returned with doubts, undoubtedly…
You’d love me (was it an opportunity?)
To hate me.
Is there someone better that you’re dying to meet
or are you waiting for someone better than me?
Will I be a better someone for setting you free
or am I someone better that I can’t see?
Someone better… (for the love that you need)
Someone better… (for the love that I seek)
Time and time again, you push me to the brink
To abandon ship and swim before we sink
But these thoughts don’t fade away when I sleep
Isn’t someone better who you’re supposed to be?
Because you were the one fall in love with me
The future is no surprise if you can predictably
say ‘someone better’ is someone I’m gonna meet?
Cause I’m sure as hell that someone better isn’t someone I need
If someone better is who you’re supposed to be.
Is someone better God has yet to create?
Because someone better always seems to escape
“Someone better” - an excuse to abandon and break
When you won’t accept your love’s been a mistake.
© 2015 Neal Emanuelson
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Andy loved a girl named Sandy
Bill saw a horse standing on the hill
Cory told his mother a made up story
Dave dug many a grave
Eddy loaned his teddy to Neddy
Frank bought a Sherman tank
Greg had a wooden leg
Hilton was related to Mrs Wilton
Ivan strolled in the park with Jan
Jack scratched his own back
Kyle's hair style also suited Lyle
Lance couldn't obtain a bed valance
Max paid a hefty lot of tax
Neal earned a reputation for his *** appeal
Oscar drank at the Crown and Stag bar
Paul gave ten shillings to Saul
Quentin found a silver tin
Roger was a work dodger
Sam enjoyed a portion of Virginia ham
Timmy sure knew how to shimmy
Umberto listened to the concerto
Vlad priced an inner city pad
Wing put his arm in a sling
Xain often rode on the express train
Yule took a picture of the farmer's mule
Zeal looked forward to his evening meal
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
“aquashield+ .. what is this?”
—“sunscreen”—
“no wonder you get burnt all the time it expired in two-thousand-eight ya mad cat.”
“a-ah..”
“ah?”
“good that i use a different one i 'spose hmm?”
“pfft—bronzer.”
“oh come on.”
. . .
—“awshit look at all those dried soap carcasses in the back there. little beached whales”
“exfoliating, irish spring...”
—“hey what's with the two-in-one shampoos anyway?”
“...well,”
—“seems to me like they're just tryna make showering faster.”
“yah. what's your issue?”
"well, what's the point of that? enjoy the ****** thing.
I dare you to find any two things better than being under a hot shower
& the heat of the blowdryer in the hair after...gaw-damnn.”
—“preach.”
. . .
“man, and all the dust...”
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
Flawed Hypothesis
I know she was the one
she had the most to gain
reaching down to touch the fallen soul
bleeding from the mouth
at the bottom of the stairs
she would inherit the winery
she would now be rich
have it all to herself
she had revenge in her heart
he had stolen it from her family
but the wine master seems strange
very nervous for an innocent
and his mustache looks crooked
I don't think it's real Neal
You're right Sherlock
and what about that boyfriend
he could marry her if she inherited
that slicked back black hair
something is not right there
the way his lip curls
what about that store magnate
wanting to purchase his land
and that scar on his right hand
smooth talker if ever there was
his suit must have cost 2 grand
maybe they all had a hand
but I still think its Muriel
those tears just don't seem real to me
not the way that she should be
so I am thinking it is her for me
Gomer LePoet ...
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
like a hot-wheel guided by
a holy hand above, he makes
impossible feats as if the car
creates the road, his free hand
is just as busy making
fanatic gestures to guide
scrambled linguistics
or it rests out the window
seeking a courtship
with the wind
clasping the door handle, wide-eyed
the passenger rides safely adjacent to Fear,
but at every turn Momentum carries Fear deep into the heart
where its is pumped via veins, icing the body
with awe inspiring visions.
Visions controlled by the last true
American Driver.
He drives like only a thief
can, poised by paranoia, pure thrill
achieved only through the drive, race or
getaway.
in a past life,
Neal was a great Outlaw
outrunning potbelly sheriffs
to plump on the saddle to rival
the great horsemen of their day
he’d chase trains down,
taming and taunting them
with speed and skill.
or
perhaps
he was a horse himself.
a terrific thoroughbred
bluegrass fed.
tritting
trotting
his way to a Triple Crown.
trainers fed him Benzedrine
to gage the beast. they feared
he would run through the finish line
and straight across the country
like a maniacal madman
looking for the last
true road
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
We can never never forget
our birth right !
we among we are we who are not
****** for the demiurg's
plan
No one is !
self assured
protegee-s
are born with a silver platter
beneath their behinds
and golden locks around their hearts
Open the gates ! to compassion
to love and beauty
Mems are inherently deep
mims singing their song
of freedom forlorn
Endlessly lost in a wicked
vastness of matter
Dark tea time
The other one - is - medica !
Heal me
O'neal me
Nurture our love
Embrace me
Yearn to be yearned
(by her, by me)
Give me your spirit - to fly !
for a wide
while
I'll lend you - my shape !
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
*A feeling
Is not about who is best
Art
Is not a contest
To insist on a victor
Is an ego that has broken
Showering hate upon the lives
Of hearts that are open*
What may or may not be poetry
Is instead the heart of our family
You commented rather pointedly
About your superior ability
And eloquent verbosity
Most likely derived from history
Of the friends of Neal Cassidy
And other written eccentricity
Yet you forgot your humanity
And instead introduced a monstrosity
An ego steeped in personal vanity
Insisting on being treated royally
Demanding your subjects bow immediately
As you crashed into the sea of tranquility
Planting your flag of superiority
And crushing our words spoken so plainly
But heartfully
Because the letters are unworthy
To one who is challenged emotionally
Unable to live peacefully
Amongst those who wish to learn gratefully
About a craft you have reserved selfishly
For yourself and those you deem to be equally
As adept as yourself in the vagary
Of references you declare to be wholly
Fresh and newly
Minted by your ability
To walk around the cliché so gracefully
While we repeatedly
Use words such as lovely
Or heavenly
Or tearfully
Or holy
So we beg you openly
To understand what is primary
In a place for the novice to publically
Air their emotions unapologetically
And speak candidly
And unconditionally
About how painfully
It is to live freely
In a place so worldly
Where men think judgmentally
******* the life from those who live meekly
And wish to exist thankfully
Amongst those who understand brotherly
Love and who affectionately
Praise those who tenderly
Open their hearts to humanity
Giving mercy
To those without the gifts you egotistically
Bludgeoned us with so artfully
But failing miserably
To impart insightfully
Your wisdom for those who willingly
Would receive daily
Your transcendently
And insightfully
Spoken songs of serenity
But instead you callously
Reminded us unfortunately
That mere man is weakly
Empowered to exist commonly
And instead arrogantly
Cuts the rose greedily
Leaving the thorns sadistically
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
I’m just sitting here in the dark, waiting for this life of mine to start.
Wondering before I leave this world, will I leave a mark?
Or is it true, and I’ve been doomed, from the start.
But I’m getting so tired of being so alone,
Take this burden off my back and leave it on the road
Got to leave this place before it swallows me whole
Find a little fresh air that really suites my soul
And I’m headin out on the road,
finding that fresh air, that suites my soul
And I’m headed out on the road, were it leads I don’t know
Now I got some good friends, and there going to go with me
Like good old Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy
We headed out west till we found the sea.
Hoping on this journey we find the meaning of the word free
Cause we’re breaking those bonds of that mental slavery
That were given cause we live in this society
And we are all looking for a little something to believe
But my position on that decision is completely up to me
And we headed out on the road,
finding that fresh air, that suites our soul
And we headed out on the road, were it leads I don’t want to know
Now driving across the land, and sleeping in a van
Sweating in the dessert air, getting that beach sand our hair
Sleeping on misty mountain tops, getting woke up by the cops
Just going what we can, trying to find out how to be a man
Playing music in the street, for a little change and something to eat
Spending all you time and all your cash for a little bit of fun
and a whole lot of gas
When you heading out on the road,
finding that fresh air that suites your soul
And you head out, out on the road,
were it leads you ain’t ever going to know
And you head out, out on the road,
You find that fresh air and it suites your soul
And you head out, out on the road; you find it leads you home
(Zeus's Woodshed)
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
What a strong grip that you've managed to keep so long
How does it still feel in this moment?
Realize now that the grip was too strong
It's gone too numb to feel if it still constricts
Emboldened by the lies that cross the threshold of those lips
You get what I give and I give you what I deserved
You reap what I sow, but I know what you think I don't
Believe me, you know you've deceived me
You seem baffled as I start to roam away from your reach
Wondering where went the chain you've anchored
What of the lessons you've attempted to teach
To keep me guilted, controlled and manipulated
So you can seek all you want from the others you've lied to
You take what I give but I get what you deserved
I've reaped what you sow and you know that I don't
Believe you, I know you've deceived me
So come clean to me
Bare all your guilt
Set me free
You've already abandoned me
Still you don't resist
To continue so disrespectfully
You keep your secrets disappearing
So what is it that you still want from me?
So come clean to me (come clean, come clean)
Bare all your guilt (what you hide from me)
Set me free (your cage no longer fits)
You've already abandoned me
So why should I stay by you?
©July 2024 Neal Emanuelson
Jul 2, 2024
Jul 2, 2024 at 6:40 PM UTC
I'm glad you died
By the train tracks
In Mexico, alone
With the lizards and
Horned toads
When you did,
When the mood
Was High and
The momentum
Rolled in your favor,
I'm glad you died
When you did
Before rock n' roll again
And again and disco
And no Jazz, no bop
And waves crashed
And undertoe tore at Tired,
I'm glad you died
When you did
With movement, with power
And you should hear 'em
Talk about you and the boys
With ancient lips and Beautiful
I'm glad you died
When you did
Before it all changed
And They took away
Want and replaced it
With electronic death
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
I'm glad you died
By the train tracks
In Mexico, alone
With the lizards and
Horned toads
When you did
When the mood
Was High and
The momentum
Rolled in your favor,
I'm glad you died
When you did
Before rock n' roll again
And again and disco
And no Jazz, no bop
And waves crashed
And undertoe tore
At Tired,
I'm glad you died
When you did
With movement, with power
And you should hear 'em
Talk about you and the boys
With ancient lips and Beautiful
And god smiles my face
And god still cries for
His Muse,
I'm glad you died
When you did
Before it all changed
And We lost the momentum
And replaced it
With sleep
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC
Neal died on the train tracks somewhere in Mexico.
Jack died at his Mother's house in St. Petersburg, FL.
Remember that.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
Of the silence in this mind
Life once taken isn’t sacred
Staring at a mirror with one’s self, half-naked
After learning to accept the pain, there’s was nothing to escape it
One could make it better than fate ever did
Can’t understand what one was doing; just escaping
Jailing one’s self with their own personal hate and
Hiding away from the mental wardens that one stayed with
Discarding one’s self to remember that one had a very hand in
The destruction to the very world one was contained within
One believed it’s right, so the argument is always **** off-*
*go fix your life before you act like you’re a **** God.”*
It’s a long way from accepting all the blade does
But it never fails and the lines eventually fade off
Could be a saint and come to one’s defense
Or shut the **** up and watch from the ******* fence
Worn this mask so long, one tends to forget to fake it
Disillusioned to one’s self and all the things that make it
More lines to breathe across the skin appear soon
A novella of pain with no words to read through
Handling a smile like accessory to hide instability
Always showing through, but truly just a shell of ‘me’
Despite the calm you see
Through laughs and jeers
One still feels lost and uncontrolled
Everything warm when one’s heart turned cold
No chance to correct it, just craving an exit
Took the knife last night, now the demons are rested
Took the chance last night, now dried and decrepit
Relapsed again tonight, and one’s mind is repressive
Wrote about a horrid time, and now it’s all depressive
Happy stars and pussycats, unicorns and other ****
©2015 Neal Emanuelson
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
The outer heart is dense
Made for nothing but defense
But every now and then, something pierces
But when it’s repairing the damage done
What of that which overcomes
It is constantly breaking through, creating lesions
So little the reparations mend
What little alive left to tend
When the tissue is dead and sordidly forgotten
Death will come from all that it's abandoned
Heartbeats constant yet instable
Will bring anyone down to their knees
Heartbeats that become unable
To liberate, only condemned to defeat
The outer heart shall rot and expose
What once was too precious to behold
Is now fighting until its last breath
Ill-prepared and defenseless still
Oft fueled by only pure will
Through all the abuse that the inner heart will suffer
None worse than sabotage by the love of another
Heartbeats lapsed, confused and fleeting
Destroyed after all it had found
Heartbeats faint, profuse bleeding
Drowning in pools on the ground
© 2015 Neal Emanuelson
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
Ref blows whistle: (Full Time Out)
Me-
My man curled, screen, then tried to do a slip.
Size you in, and hit you really good in your lips.
No calls guaranteed, from these wack funky referees.
I’m ready to turn up on the court, bro, down with me?
Juice-
Hell yeah my guy! ****** off and attitude kinda tight.
What a mess, Aye, Zay let’s put these boys to rest.
Me-
Straight facts! Next play they’re running flat.
The next time he do that, we’ll lay him on his back.
Time to respond. I'll get the ball, hit a crossover, and pass it through.
Hit your shimmy dance, shoot and move, shoot and move.
Juice-
***** you ain’t got to say -ish!
I been ballin’ since 5th grade with the same tricks!
With the ball gripped, and a fake little drive.
Average 14p-10r-5a + an OG can still fly.
Just observe, I’m about to send these boy my regards.
Have the crowd singing, “Oh my Lord!”
Me-
Bet fam, love your crazy attitude!
We gone gang up on these rookies and beat them by 62!
Abuse them, with the upmost tempo vicious.
Dunk, score, scream and shout make them feel like quitting.
On Defense, guard #2 the short chubby dude.
I’ll guard #32 that look like a raccoon.
Go man to man with the little peasants.
When it’s all said and done, give these fools zero leg room exits.
Juice-
I'm dunking on chumps like O’Neal , offense-defense real!
Got ice in my veins from the thrill when I block and steal!
These little boys can’t stop me for -ish!
With my corner 3-pt nasty wet jumper, they gone have to recover.
Yup, make them suffer. We dangerous!
Whole team will lose confidence dawg, big trust!
Now let’s just chill, relax, stay focus no relapse,
watch our backs, but aye fam… where the ball at?
Ref blows whistle: (Ball in!)
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
On my last day in Columbus, which
didn't feel
like my last day in Columbus
we sat on the stairs outside your apartment
overlooking the courtyard
as you chain-smoked cigarettes doing everything
very quickly. Saying
we're on the verge of it, I could be Kerouac and you
could be Ginsberg or Cassady, and all of this could be our
dharma bums.
What an uncommon and unmistakable howl that was, Joe.
The clouds moved towards us so quickly, but
until we focused on the stars, more fixed in the sky
those clouds didn't seem to be moving at all.
It was something about the courtyard you said.
It's all very prosical, you said.
I nodded because it didn't make sense.
You put out your last cigarette for the night and I
walked away from you sitting there
in the rearview of my life.
(Sal Paradise never saw Dean Moriarty again.
Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady were lifelong friends.)
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC