Want to get across miles and miles barren,
Waste land, (we’re alone, now, that,)

Wish you You,we’re here, the rest.
To follow, would you ? Wave by by,would you descend
To the limit, would you become me, who had already become you.

The winter solstice again unnoticed among the lush green, the ferns of yesterday where quietly flows,
The gurgling, churning brook

Of past desire, of harangues tolled, bells far away somewhere in Italy , of our cornered soul in hidden greyish latticed Romanesque hideaways,

The boy me that was you fell ill when she left,
Returned to the whispered elegance of a breathed but slightly elongated whispered unheard,

Which was the deep down last message?

Again you protract it as it were never to happen, yet still ,
Already so caught up, as it never, but now?

Yes, yes, yes turn turn, turn.

Yes I will lock you in so never leave
But you guys left within the bowels of the older ILP.
All you fellow travelers while broken
Hearts bleed too
As the sun also rises
To be exact where have you gone?

Remember Arc, whose trees were as exposed as mine by the park?
How with Stuart who came by one late night we drove endlessly up to my house maybe now puppet of master puppet, Tricia, or Trixie and that guy living near Istanbul whom could have visited near by, but oh well!
Who else broke me’ hear besides?

Irrellus whom I really liked , now alone I putter in the depths of psychologicalism.

Physicalist is also a risen abstraction and MagsJ whom I could have popped up to before taking to Paris that night I died, as playing the blues,

We all fear to survive and surface in this new venue, the typist died, along with so many others

And here again lonely Kerouac traveler just the same before the Chevy on the levy became a mess of rusted parked endless rain, and the song must go on as it does, alone again, naturally on my trip to Bancock, must see you, when will I see you again?