on the road
with the dead beats;
skeletal remains
and cut up poetry.
desolation
and a radio god,
a mad howl
dismembers
the human highway.
Sal Paradise lost
while ghost women
line bleaker streets,
’49 Hudson
hauling the corpse
of America’s retreat.
thumbs up Jack
straddles double
line —
drive right
through him
or conform to
Moriarty’s mind.
city lights
read dead ahead;
drunken doorways
scream out
funeral jazz —
spontaneous specters
from a world
gone mad.