A Million Billion Miles

 

Neal Cassady has been deceased

 

longer than his candle burned,

 

but that hasn’t stopped him

 

from extending the record

 

for non-stop transcontinental drives.

 

Alive he’d finally have to sleep

 

once run out of benzedrine, supply

 

tougher to get a bead on as contemporaries

 

pass away and/or go straight,

 

not a one vivacious enough to perpetuate

 

beyond their demise. Neal knows 

 

journeys, the buzz of a long-block engine,

 

the fast route and meandering routes 

 

to the next city. His faith is continuous 

 

motion, “Go,” the last word he remembers.

 

He forms the shape of “Go,” but never “gone.”

 

 

 

 

r h p   h o m e

 

 

T o d d   M e r c e r


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