Bowery Blues
The story of man
Makes me sick
Inside, outside,
I don’t know why
Something so conditional
And all talk
Should hurt me so.
I am hurt
I am scared
I want to live
I want to die
I don’t know
Where to turn
In the Void
And when
To cut
Out
For no Church told me
No Guru holds me
No advice
Just stone
Of New York
And on the cafeteria
We hear
The saxophone
O dead Ruby
Died of Shot
In Thirty Two,
Sounding like old times
And de bombed
Empty decapitated
Murder by the clock.
And I see Shadows
Dancing into Doom
In love, holding
TIght the lovely asses
Of the little girls
In love with sex
Showing themselves
In white undergarments
At elevated windows
Hoping for the Worst.
I can’t take it
Anymore
If I can’t hold
My little behind
To me in my room
Then it’s goodbye
Sangsara
For me
Besides
Girls aren’t as good
As they look
And Samadhi
Is better
Than you think
When it starts in
Hitting your head
In with Buzz
Of glittergold
Heaven’s Angels
Wailing
Saying
We’ve been waiting for you
Since Morning, Jack
Why were you so long
Dallying in the sooty room?
This transcendental Brilliance
Is the better part
(of Nothingness
I sing)
Okay.
Quit.
Mad.
Stop.
❀ Photography: Reinfried Marass ☛ www.ReinfriedMarass.com
❀ Blues and Haikus 1959. Read by Kerouac with jazz sax by Al Cohn and Zoot Sims
Part 2:
Part 1:
ART & Thoughts 
This is my most favorite Kerouac poem including Chorus 113 from Mexico City Blues. It’s so rhythmic, it fits with that paranoia of typing when you write. I love it. And it’s definitely one of his darker poems, although the positive air he gets from Buddhism is always there. This Man. What a great poet.
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Posted by Konk | August 29, 2014, 5:27 pmThis is my favorite Jack Kerouac poem. It’s dark, but at the same time just as subtle and simple as his other works. You can feel the words being typed because of the beat. Thank god for Jazz and Kerouac.
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Posted by pakistanichick | August 29, 2014, 5:35 pm