jack kerouac owes me, I will collect

 I am the son and rightful heir to the language

of the house and the language of the water

left to languish here in Lowell with nothing else new to try

Devoted to my mother and debased just like my father

Holy One who art in heaven can you even hear me cry?

I heard the message that you sent me

suffer well and go to heaven 

but if I die in pain and horror will confession still suffice?

Holy fists and holy statements

holy blood now fills the pavement and

my father spits in faces and says he hopes to die

Diagnosed with indifference 

poked and prodded and caressed

could there be one last witness to the bodies 

stranded on the Hudson shore?

I leave Massachusetts in the wake

and I pray on my mistakes 

and please pray my soul to take

If it ever leaves the road