Читать книгу Mexico City Blues - Jack Kerouac - Страница 35

“Man, now, you wont let me talk”

Gripes the irreligious feline cat –

That cat has no trumpet

But bubblegum to blow on

Poor sad Bhikku of the Forest

Of poor, lost little Nino

In Calles of Forever,

Streets of Old Burma,

Be saved secret wretched

Urchin brother hero

You are protected

By the Guardians

of

the

Alone

All is alone, you dont have to talk

One Light, One Transcendental Ecstasy

If they dont understand that

In the South, it’s because

All their Baptists

Have not been to Shool