Dr. Sal, Beatwords, and a paradise of Jazz, and flowers.
Words that flow so perfectly in ancient rythym
in modern verbal structure, spilling over the frosted glass of inhibition..
into the waiting minds and souls of those who choose to drink, and drunken themselves, ourselves, on words of love, and life, and endless expressions and melodies, beat in purest form, and science explained in simplicity of spoken, breathed, and jazzblown word..
words, and words and words, and explosions of thought and soulfelt experiments of time, and wisdom, and learned through every lonely ebb of howling song, or dusty street corner, stood where I have myself, and gazed into the same horizons, somewhere in this sprawling madness that is american life, is one who's seen and understood things, and scribed a million sights, and sounds, perhaps the Atlanta swell of rippling laughter, and Ohio's sprawling Sin city blocks and blocks of blues and churning steel, the dim lit Charleston jazz, and southern cooking's warm and filling, welcome, open armed charms...
Atco, Denver, Middletown, and Elko, mountaintops of nameless sunrise truck stops, with nickel coffee, apple pie a quarter.. I could live for years on apple pie, coffee, cigarrettes, and fresh air to balance it all out.. dusky skies, mingling with the briskness of winter, or the haze of dripping humid summer, tropical dreams and endless voyages into unknown lands, undriven, unwalked roads.. dotted lines that reach across the funny shapes that make up the country we all roam, and discover, all in time, all somehow connected by stars, and truck stop coffee.