02-14-2015, 02:14 AM
Desert Visions
The sagebrush shakes when wind
shaded with dust
and thin like diner coffee
sweeps over
the asphalt of the desert highway.
I lean on my pack in the shade
of buttressed sage. The sky is bright blue
and the sand conforms to my body like
a worn-out motel bed. I hear the snap
of grasshopper wings become like the hum
of bright signs that light city streets in colors;
of vermillion and lime as scents of curry
and rice rise in wafts to the window
of Sal Paradise. At the sill
he sucks LA up in one breath
and basks in the cobalt glow. I breathe too,
shut the book, listen to the simmer
of the desert. I hear a faint rumble –
a diesel engine. Rising from meditation,
I shoulder my pack and stand by the road.
Disclaimer: Sal Paradise is a character in Jack Kerouac's novel On the Road and as such is solely the property of Jack Kerouac's estate. In my poem, I am not seeking to utilize this property in any other way than to explain what is happening in the scene of the poem.
The sagebrush shakes when wind
shaded with dust
and thin like diner coffee
sweeps over
the asphalt of the desert highway.
I lean on my pack in the shade
of buttressed sage. The sky is bright blue
and the sand conforms to my body like
a worn-out motel bed. I hear the snap
of grasshopper wings become like the hum
of bright signs that light city streets in colors;
of vermillion and lime as scents of curry
and rice rise in wafts to the window
of Sal Paradise. At the sill
he sucks LA up in one breath
and basks in the cobalt glow. I breathe too,
shut the book, listen to the simmer
of the desert. I hear a faint rumble –
a diesel engine. Rising from meditation,
I shoulder my pack and stand by the road.
Disclaimer: Sal Paradise is a character in Jack Kerouac's novel On the Road and as such is solely the property of Jack Kerouac's estate. In my poem, I am not seeking to utilize this property in any other way than to explain what is happening in the scene of the poem.