I read this poem at the Beat Museum last Sunday. –CM
A superficial reading of one of these poems [in the book of lyrics by Kerouac] led me to believe he was referring to Burroughs — the section where Kerouac is taking down the words of old junkie Bill Garver — I think he calls him Bill Gaines — “Boy if you only knew how good dem bacons and dem eggs is, you’d give up poetry boy and dig in,”etc. — the theme carries through about five choruses [of the book].
O magic countless in time this morning,
O risen sun late on the horizon,
San Rafael, your office workers
with shiny hair and backpacks
a tow in endless motion and still asleep
on sleek commuter buses
do not notice the copy of Mexico City Blues
beside my bag on the seat cushion
next to me.
This workaday I will play tag
and I am still in that reverie
as the bus pulls into
a transfer stop.
Now workers with grit-worn shirts
standing in line at a deli
smile as they fill
cups of coffee and pay.
In the Canal the street are dim
candlelight from the ones
holding prayer vigils
against the ICE raids
shines in sweet candescence.
Earth kisses the sun
ii sing of love’s purity
while my anger rises from my chest
as my my sweat rolls down my
unbroken chain of being, how can I hold you?
I don’t need to,
the summer signs into my heart and
the warmth melts my ire as