Still Mad

by Sean Pravica

How many people must have sat on Big Sur beaches
Dusted off their Rucksacks to join Snyder’s Revolution
Turned to sky kissing views for summer employment
And snapped their fingers to a poet’s beat
Just to follow the footprints you left behind
More than you could ever know
And I’ll guess more than you’d want to
I can imagine your pensive face
Arms crossed and eyes down
To the floor
Or to your bottle
Feet itchier than ever to thumb along the roadside
To get away from all this
The generations of followers
Just looking for the next kick
Across the America you showed them
And as long as young kids still find themselves
In the hallmark jazz of your madman prose
Which, like it or not, Jean Ti
You'll seeThis is still a beat generation
And you’re still the King
If you ever get a chance to look down
From the Heaven you spent your life trying to find
Look on all the road weary disciples
Who got what they were looking for
One way or another
Just like you did
Your Catholics say a man’s a saint
After only three miracles
I guess a countless number of Mad Ones
Anointed by your credo
And hell bent on being in love with thr lives
Even if it kills them
Wasn’t enough of a Roman Candle
For the Vatican to recognize
Meanwhile your spider legged visions
Still smoke across the sky
Which, like it or not
Proved you’re not so alone
After all

The only ones for you were Mad
And still are