Welcome Back, Jack Kerouac

 Got a typing machine, some benzedrine and a mattress
Floating like a dream, on a stream of consciousness
And who wants this — spontaneous prose? 
Nobody knows, where it goes
Our bloodied lips and acid trips
We think, we drink, therefore we are
Connected to the universe

It could be worse

Welcome back, Jack Kerouac
Where have you been? Were you on the road again?
Say hello to Carlo, Moriarty and Old Bull Lee
We’re still looking for the beat

Beatific, nonspecific, prolific on a road trip
In search of the great American verse
The curse of ninety thousand words
All unrehearsed
Except in all those other books
Full of sideways looks and two-bit crooks
All looking for something nice
In Paradise

Welcome back, Jack Kerouac
Where have you been? Were you on the road again?
Say hello to Carlo, Moriarty and Old Bull Lee
We’re still looking for the beat

As seen on television, a fevered vision of reality
We can see the similarity, testaments to mediocrity
All the rusty nails and the dusty trails
The devil is in the details
You sang in praise of jazz in the age of ads
Written at the speed of thought
Your fingers caught the nuance
I hope you got what you want

Welcome back, Jack Kerouac
Where have you been? Were you on the road again?
Say hello to Carlo, Moriarty and Old Bull Lee
We’re still looking for the beat

© 2021 Zach Sands, PhD