Land of Mad Jack (Kerouac)

Wiffle balls all blue, orange and
red ride bicycles on children with
blue striped skin tipping flipping juggling by
green square trash cans sinking on piles of
grassy playgrounds dying with
broken branches falling under
false illumination drifting touching slapping
electric fences like two prisons standing.
Wishing well water on hands
skillfully bounce balls while
tossing bodies bestow the
graceful expression of tearing
young crippled trees between here and
there without shade.
Boys in worn sneakers that stop start up down
running to rest without sound without clowns
better of the brood they are not drowning.
House boxes half hidden
sorting grey weed trees still living is
where black hoods and chinos with
pot belly charmers like
benny, white lady smashing on lip face and
Carlos Castaneda stay away from
drop dimers watching hoping in the
distance eyeballing wannabes on
rock monsters ducking metal sheet bombs near a
crackling fire with a
broken glass curtain thrown behind
green bleachers deciding on flying to
yellow dirt water falling.
I was found after brawling half baked, wasted -
bouncing on my face mistaking bottle caps,
beer rings and torn paper butt ends
for dogged faces smiling.