To Jack Kerouac on His 88th Birthday
early morning and the street is swept
by a white truck followed by birds
in the shade of a bride's shadow
lightning streaking from the silent eyes
of a half-mad cat who's paw is caught
in a sewer grate
the shore pouring over the bridge
the ledge pressing into the sky
somewhere a butterfly is shaking
because he doesn't want to die
Chris Mansel
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