Missing Beat

Kerouac, where have you gone
hiding in empty milk cartons behind
lost faces
distant graces
and your honeymoon eyes.
Have you hitched some train ride
across our sweet corn field country
to the West
where it was all won and golden?

Perhaps you are hiding in your dreams,
sleeping in rail cars
or scattered out at sea,
walking among the Big Sur trees
or dancing down Market street?
Perhaps you lost yourself among the jazz tones
and the bop,
perhaps you’re just hiding in some shadowy basement bar
tapping along to the beat.

Maybe you got lost on a carnival ride
your dark cotton candy eyes
sent you rocketing to the top
and maybe you’re slowly falling back down to Mount Tam.
Maybe you’re in Paris,
maybe you’re in Mexico.
Maybe I’ll spend forever wondering where did you go…

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