The poet makes the private life public. I love, oh how I love! And for my love, I suffer.
Day: August 22, 2014
Ah, yes… some Friday evening Kerouac…
I was sipping a Goose Island, an Urban Pale Ale, while Kerouac tapped out a groovy beat: boom ta-ta, BOOM-! ta-ta… The clouds are pissing down the broken window-glass, as moonbeams run naked across the morning sky… CJ And now,…