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Wild Man of Letters
by Ernest Slyman

Last night I dreamed I was Jack Kerouac, wild man of letters.
The High Holy Lord of beat,
A one-eyed Buddha of a boozed out beat generation,
Cool courageous hip sex fiend, adulterer, cheat,
The enigmatic freudian zealot hipster fool,
The three-day wonder who lasted forever,
Head full of Zen, and I could fly.
A two-headed junky God
Who drank down a bottle of rye,
That beautiful long gone marijuana dope King
Whose talent markedly declined,
Who once heard the english language sing
The tortured, antic meditations of my mind,
And plundered it like a city, raped the women,
Stole the banks and jewelry stores blind,
And felt no pity for mankind,
Taking nothing that was not already mine.

(from Departure From Normal)

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