Kerouac's Mistress Poem by Ben Partenay

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