-last stop, 168th-

I’m up to my adam’s apple

in Kerouac's "Mexico City Blues"      what with those jazzy 

riffs and scatterings,     the lost parts settling

to the wayside by the time of closing

the 168th Chorus:   “—Looking over your shoulder
                                      At the beautiful maidens––"
and what’s the harm

to sneak-a-peek inside for the number

of the final Chorus  (242nd)  when you’ve dropped-out

at 168?

but reading Mexico City Blues, for me,

is like wandering through a field of glassies, sounds

like saltwater retreating over stones, lazy-jazzy, but looks

like adjusting the dippy vertical-hold for the Friday Night Fights.

and not everybody's starving hysterical naked, like Ginsberg,

but Mexico City Blues is, ––– is like

I'm stuck in the middle of the Himalayas, here.  

now, phrase-processing is a function
I often approach from a careful distance, but

closing the 1st Chorus with "Mersion of Missy"

cracks me up and to be fair, I linger as much as I read, but

senses are enhanced and seem to be kicking-in and that's good enough.


                                                                      Fall River, 3/12/10