24th Chorus
by Jack Kerouac
San Francisco is too sad
Time, I cant understand
Fog, shrouds the hills in
makes unshod feet so cold
Pity the poor Pomo, St. Francis & the birds,
Fills black rooms with day
Dayblack in the white windows
And gloom in the pain of pianos;
Shadows in the jazz age
Filing by; ladders of flappers
Painter’s white bucket
Funny 3 Stooge Comedies
And fuzzy headed Hero
Moofle Lip suck’t it all up
And wondered why
The milk & cream of heaven
Was writ in gold leaf
On a book - big eyes
For the world
The better to see-
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