Monday, September 3, 2012

Imitating Kerouac

So on an island when the rain falls down and I hide in the ancient shadow-borne cloisters hearing the cold, cold wind rush through the strait and feel the deeply tangible weight of an unfathomable history embracing years and places beyond my imagination, and all the feet treading, all the pilgrims praying in the immensity of it and in Seattle I know that the strangers will ignore one another in the city where they let strangers ignore one another, and tonight the sun'll stay up so late, and who would have thought the fire could be that white? the solsitce sky will be fading and dimming its brightest shades over the wild ocean, which is blue but never black in a way that blesses the earth, lightens all lands, reflects off the sands and shines on the waves, and everyone, everyone knows that the days are only going to get shorter from here on out and there's nothing that can stop our spinning, I write you a letter, I even write you a letter that can never be sent, I write you a letter.