Beatnik poetry

Bowery blues by Jack Kerouac

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.