the big beat battered window <br />filled with rain spatter and spit <br />wet into the dark <br />the streets swollen with <br />water, bruised traffic and left <br />dead for morning, birds <br />aren't singing, even <br />the clouds stripped <br />their silver lining, headed <br />for the high up hills <br />headed for the heavens <br />of some young beauties dreams. <br />the wind tearing up sound <br />the walls pounding, trees <br />snap cracking into kindling <br />you’re sitting there smiling <br />like Kerouac’s mistress <br />all world torn and tossed <br />all pieces of something greater <br />all bits of storm <br />the hair drips <br />the smile slips <br />these hands are good <br />for catching.<br /><br />Ben Paynter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kerouac-s-mistress/
