The Canticle of Jack Kerouac by Lawrence Ferlinghetti



Far from the the sea from the sea

of Breton fishermen

the white clouds scudding

over Lowell

and the white birches the

bare white birches

along the blear night roads

flashing by in darkness

(where once he rode

in Pop’s old Plymouth)

and the birch white face

of a Merrimac madonna

shadowed in streetlight

by Merrimac’s shroudy waters

— a leaf blown

upon sea wind

out of Brittany

over endless oceans




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