an Ode to Kerouac

K. said, "First thought = Best thought." worked this time!

I stepped outside,
having been stoked high on "The Traveling Willburys,"
and it was hard for me to calibrate
my stiff back and what not
to focus on walking up the hill
to the railroad tracks
(my business being to stand around and look)
so I stopped there for a moment
and saw some fatly tufted weeds
in a neighbor's flowerbed
(apparently cultivated for some cyborg reason)
also a pink lilac tree.

Moving up and track-ward,
striving not to end my poetic flight in road-kill;
noticed the spray paint from "hamburger joint" was actually turqouise
punched myself for giving a fuck
savored the sunny laziness of the proceedings
beads of sweat ran down my brow
(emanations of honest labor)

and as I walked just meters back home
victoriously battled a dragon,
+ was discourteous to some grassy teens in a newish BMW
(only gave a fuck for a second)
jumped over a large, shining lime green preying mantis settled in my doorway

These are all just words,
so inaccurate,
there's wormwood in my veins
and deadwood in my spirit...

how I would dig to ride
in a little limo
out to welcoming, crazy plains!