Rolling over Jack Kerouac

Here's a new feature, in which I post selections from Dr. Chung's old collection of beat poetry:


In The Morning

In the Morning
Ice and Tentacles grew from
The side of the house

Extending from a heart
To the sea

The house, still
And plaster hung from cables
Doors still clung to the meat
And flesh of the house
With crimson carpeting
Three inches of shag into
Smooth, smooth table legs
And the displacement in space
Called aesthetics
Extending skin and sinew
To the sea

In the Morning
The Sea found
Ice and tentacles

Recover, Salvage
Awaken to slumber
In the brine, music

Envelopes in hydrogen and oxygen
Envelopes in sodium and chlorine
And diatoms
The Sea