I am not Kerouac

but I am

always on the road

never comfortable in one place

pissed about nursing homes

who turn age into money

and use up the caring,

their minimum wages burning holes in their pockets.

I am not Ginsberg

but I am

standing at Elm and Lamar

with Black people hawking

the quick version because the paper thinks young people

can’t sit long enough to read the full edition,

watching as beat students and janitors

wait for the light

thinking about the sick child

and unpaid electric bill

room made cold by gaps

and no insulation

uninsulted from the D.A.

who sent the summons for bounced check.

I am not Burroughs

but I am

full of victimhood and insane

with misswired mind

and ravenous appetites

that will never find THE ultimate fix

or even be satisfied with today’s.

What I love about the Beats

is the way they are all over

in every corner

breathing secondary or primary smoke

sipping not-overpriced coffee

never comfortable with conventions

even Green Party’s

or drinking parties

writing in streams of anger

not on a sentimental journey,

beat by multinationals

conservative talk shows spewing lies

fundamentalists spitting hate

networks splitting souls into demographics.

I am not beat

but I am

unfit

for production quotas

timelines or long lines

a husband’s rules

the good employee role

too-tight pants

peopled who are right

wars that wage for oil

programs, stages, and fixed wages.

I am not fit…

too much sugar not enough lettuce

too many beers not enough water

too many fries instead of steamed

too many movies

too few lingers with my lover

too little time with present

too much with past.

12/15/2003

Author's Note: This is my first conscious effort at New Beat Movement poetry, still reading Kerouac and Ginsberg and the others, swimming in their freedom, hoping I don't drown in their darkness.

Posted on 12/15/2003
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