Jack Kerouac, still not known as a poet, and, despite what Allen says about Mexico City Blue

it is something less than great poetry, somehow nevertheless IS a great poet. Here is "211th Chorus" from his Mexico City Blues: The wheel of the quivering meat conception Turns in the void expelling human beings, Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits, Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pip tics. Horrible unnameable lice of vultures Murderous attacking dog-armies Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the jungle, Vast boars and huge gigantic bull Elephants, rams, eagles, condors Pones and Porcupines and Pills And all endless conception of living beings Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness Throughout the ten directions of space Occupying all the quarters in & out, From supermicroscopic no-bug To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell Illuminating the sky of one Mind Poor! I wish I was free of that slaving meat wheel and safe in heaven dead Desolation Angels was as good as anything he has ever done and believe you me, folks, Jack Kerouac is THE great American Writer as of now. I have said it. Bang. http://www.ubu.com/aspen/aspen3/plastic.html