Jack Kerouac wrote somewhere br America is a lonely crocashit. br I scribbled it down br And my ex-wife placed it br In Pablo Neruda’s book br Twenty Love Poems And A Song Of Despair. br br I found it years after she was gone br And it made everything br Seem logical and reasonable. br br But it is not just America: br Every place is afflicted br With terrible stinging tears br And loveless lives br And unfulfilled longing. br br Like Kerouac, most poets br Are sad alcoholics; br Maybe everyone in the world br Is a lost poet.