A Kerouac Moment

I Wonder

I wonder if he would have liked me?
Probably not,because I never dared
to live, I never dared
to bare my soul
(or myself, for that matter)
to anyone before I was thirty-five.
It was only then I became fully alive
and aware.
I was always a late bloomer,
but Jack
made daring to be bare fun.
Perhaps, somewhere in his poetry,
he would understand
that I grew old first,
before my time.
Maybe he would forgive me then
and like me a little,
although being born
when you're thirty-five
is an awful waste of time.
Jack did not waste time
but now
he has no more time.
I am still alive.

Channeling Kerouac
(*note - within this poem the asterisk (*)
is meant to indicate a finger snap :-)! Also,
this poem is loosely based upon Kerouac's
work "On the Road.")

Ja-, *, Ja-, Jack
Kerouac*, -ac, -ac.
Tormented, wander-lusting soul
Hiking trails into
Inebriate burgundy depths
Of dark thoughts and days.

Father of a million Bastard children
Playing
Beat, beat, beat
With critical syntaxioms of
Unframed, wanton words
To a writing-souled
Literary Evolution Revolution.

Hot, brooding genius
And drug-tethered brains
Jailed in addictions
But salient with
Life-pulsing
Relentless pursuits of
Swing, hip, jazz.
Beatific angel flights
Through new-sky time.