Tag Archives: mountains

Love letter

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Take me back to San Francisco
take me to climbing up city mountains
they call Bernal Heights
with sidewalks made of staircases
and lined with pink flowers
I have never seen so pink
in my life.
Climb until your calves ache.
Take me to the feelings and the hip
take me to the tacos of the Mission.
Take me to the towers to the tourists
to the scrappy figures and tempting touches
along Ocean Beach
to the baths of the too fancy Cliff House
to midnight diners
bike rides
and convertibles.
Take me back to seeing the Pacific
on the other side of the world
for the first time
to the ghosts of hippies to flowers in hair
to dream-laden dusty golden merry-go-rounds.
To sunshine city lights and fog.
Take me back to standing on top of Angel Island
State Park and walking along with my soul.
Take me back to getting lost.
Take me to those feelings
to breathing in the ghosts of Kerouac and Ginsberg
in the heavenly stacks of City Lights
and waiting
hoping
and holding your breathe
that Ferlinghetti would
walk out of his
too high secret office and take me with him.
Take me back to cappuchinos
and Washington Square.
To camping on top of the World
at Steep Ravine on Mount Tam
fear of sliding into the sea
or rather
the sea would come and take me right downstream
towards the glow
under the big glistening bridge
and straight to Jack Kerouac’s heart.

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Kerouac’s The Dharma Bums

I nudged myself closer to the ledge and closed my eyes and thought “Oh what a life this is, why do we have to be born in the first place, and only so we can have our poor gentle flesh laid out to such impossible horrors as huge mountains and rock and empty space.”

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums, 1958

Oh, what a life this is, indeed. 

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Where the wild sky–

Go to where the wild sky does not end
where the cottonball soft wisps of pink and blue
fade into the moon,
where wild flowers grow like sweet poison ivy,
where peaks of mountains frame distant dreams
and patient days float by like silent streams of dry creek beds.
Do the things that haven’t yet been done,
hug each day in a wild embrace, be free.
Don’t give up on the magic of the unknown,
the sweet unforgivable promise
found under each overturned rock
and in each golden hollow.
Be impossibly tied to the invisible wind,
to the beams of soft sunlight that scatter the heavens,
and as you walk across the endless meadow
tied to that endless sky,
be there — walking —
and never look back with your wild eyes.

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