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