Fifty-eight years ago Jack Kerouac wrote On The Road on a single roll of paper and it became the bible of the Beat Generation. Yesterday evening I went to the Post Office with Will and on the way composed my own great Beat poem:

I scattered the stars like hundreds and thousands,
on Forest Gump’s bum.
Oh stars,
Stars,
You’re like a pinstripe suit but more spotty.

Stars.
Line up stars.
You’re like a hologram of a dice.

Hello ancient sky.

Stars, you’re like a faded polka dot.
Hello sky.
Stars, you’re like chickenpox on the rump of a rhino.
Hello stars.
You’re just gleaming.
Are you dreaming about gleaming stars?
Hey stars.

Good afternoon moon.

The stars have got my back up tonight.
Hello moon.
Stars.
Polish your own Polish pits.
Stars.
Hello stars.
Someone’s pierced the stars.

Line up stars.
Right stars – scatter!
On your marks, get set – scatter stars!
You might think it’s a scattergram,
But it’s actually the night sky.
The night sky is impersonating a scattergram tonight.

Hi.
Bears.
Fallopian tubes.
Scattergram.
I can’t even see any stars now.

Bang your head on a wall – change everything!

If you’ve got any ticced poems, please share them in the comments section below.