because jazz and booze
are never enough
because usually the only kicks
in my life
are those I give myself
because the Western Night I feel is
mostly just dull and empty
and as mysterious as the stale hotdogs
I try to rip-off from 7-11
after I've traded all my food stamps
for beer and dope
I'm not Kerouac
I don't know any Neal Cassadys
I don't even know any David Cassidys
my life is more inane 70s sitcom
than vast American Tragedy
and I rarely have one woman a year
much less six or ten a night
to me his life of Holy Poetry and
Holy Buddhism and Sacred Everyman Holiness
reads more like a comic book
than soul-rending truth
in considering the honesty of Sal Paradise
or Jack Dulouz
I am reminded of childhood visits to
The Confessional,
where "I argued with my brother" or
"I copied my spelling" served to mask
true revelations of a
mostly masturbatory nature
the priest may buy it
but it ain't honest
and I'm not Kerouac.