I’d rather die than be famous,
I want to go live in the desert
With long wild hair, eating
At my campfire, full of sand,
Hard as a donut
Cooked by Sand
The Pure Land
Moo Land
Heavenland Righteous
sping
the thing
I’d rather be in the desert sand,
Sitting legs crossed, at lizard
High noon, under a wood
Board shelter, in the Dee Go
Desert, just west a L.A.
Or even in Chihucha, dry
Zackatakies, High Guadalajara,
-absence of phantoms
make me no king –
rather go in the high lone land
of plateau where you can hear
at night the zing of silence
from the halls of Assembled
64th Chorus
© Copyright: Джек Керуак, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110112509265
Свидетельство о публикации №110112509265
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