I have made you breakfast Jane
How sweet of you
What are you after
Nothing
Just Stan and Jane
And Stephen Crane
What makes you say that
Because I dreamt about meeting the poet
Or rather not meeting the poet
I had been invited to his house
A huge austere pile on the South Coast
He had liked some of my poetry
And wanted to meet me
But every time that I went into a room
He had just left
It was a frustrating dream
But as I left the house I felt really good
As I knew that Crane was dead
And that I had been chasing his ghost
Did you dream
No not that I can remember
I always dream
That is because you are a poet Stan
I have just realised that fifty-five years ago today
The body of Neal Cassidy was found next to railway tracks in Mexico
I cannot remember what caused his death
But what I found haunting was that Jack Kerouac
Had once said of his friend
Someday Dean’s going to go on one of these trips and never come back
These words were rather prophetic I believe
I agree
Many have tried to find America
But nobody really has
That is because you are always searching for an abstract
I think that you might be right Stan