In trying to find my own voice
I have howled like Ginsberg,
Tried to wash away the dust of the road
With cheap wine like Kerouac,
While listening to the bluesman wail,
Like Burrows, I dined on a naked lunch,
Of stupefying drugs,
As the cockroaches of Kafka,
Scurried through my addled mind,
Through a stream of distorted consciousness
And altered realities,
I drifted from town to town,
Vagrant and vagabond,
Like Cassidy, I have operated in the shadows
Of criminal activity in my youth
And sat in prison alone with my thoughts,
And after taking this life long journey,
Trying to find my voice,
I am beat

I am rhythm and rhyme,
I am the whispering wind,
I am the violent hurricane,
I am the summer breeze,
I am beat,

T J Therien


2 thoughts on “Beat”

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