Poem for A Desolate Angel

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This summer I read a lot of Jack Kerouac – first the Dharma Bums, then Desolation Angels, now I’m dipping into Visions of Cody.  It’s interesting to see how Kerouac’s writing developed over the course of more than a decade and how his spirit steadily deteriorated; in style he seemed ever more daring but in his heart he seemed ever more inclined to despair.  

I think something happened in the few months Jack spent on Desolation Peak. Or maybe it’s more a matter of something that didn’t happen.  He went in search of an epiphany and all he found was a trash heap.

So this is my poem for Jack, the Desolate Angel

 * * * * *

There comes a point
In Mind's development
When stoned or not
Becomes all but
Indistinguishable

It's a moment of both
Enlightenment
And grave peril

The stage has been set
Like hostages our
Fate hangs on the balance
Of a final act


To scale the heights
Of Five Phase Mountain
The question is
Can we ever be up
To such a task