… I  think of Dean Moriarty. I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty_

(Jack Kerouac_On the Road)

in a pure desert you were conceived my mongrel

desired, procured, the shadow that won’t fly

{where should we go without you?}

I swear I saw a piece of you

a lazy one, a tongue, a weight on the plumb line

before such brave, bitter tools, such ill excuses

{what joys ?

what fucking joys?}_

October 13, 2011 2:01 pm

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