On the Path

I am writing this on a roll of paper towels
at my job.

Hello, Jack Kerouac!
The neverending glory of the stream of consciousness that
will never stop..

I saw that manuscript. On the Road. It really was
on the road.

Travelling from library to library.
Who would see it? Who would want to?

Apparently, i would. And i did.
It stretched from one end of the library to
the other.

A medieval parchment. Only a bit more recent.

The sporadic souls in the grand room were
all in the exact
same postition.
As if they were dancers in a ballet
with choreography made
especially for them.

Parallel to the manuscript
that was encased in glass
were their bodies.
Lined up in random order
their heads turned to the side.

My dog looks at me this way and
sometimes i feel like she understands me
and tilts her head to the side.
She really looks kind of intelligent.

The same, are we just appearing intelligent
with our hands folded behind our backs and
our bodies at an 80 degree angle?

jack, Wouldn't you be proud?