"Report" from Lowell Celebrates Kerouac 2015

Lowell, the jewel of the Merrimack
made more perfect (if that's possible) by new old friends --
     Brian (whose passion knows no bounds) and Ken (who knew the secret word)
and by new new friends --
     Rosie (who traveled across the sea) and Phil and Marin and Jason and Don and Rachel
and by old old friends --
     Richard (my true friend who taught me NYC) and Michelle and Roxanne and Kurt
          (who gave me a stone from the Moody Street Bridge support trestle)
and by missing friends --
     Dave and John and Roger and Nancy and Jason
and by my beautiful soulmate traveling companion --
     Crystal (who tolerates my obsession)
and by a couple who came all the way from France
     whose names have escaped my memory
          like water rushing down the Pawtucket Canal
Pictures pictures pictures
     Of the usual suspects like David (the living legend) and Steve and George and Alan
          and unusual suspects like Mike and Dan and Chuck and Steve and Lesley
               (who laid down some too cool to describe -- Jack could do it -- bebop in uncharted territory)
     Of the grave, the sacred grave where people
          leave their heartfelt offerings to the madman bum and angel
               who brought us all together in the redslant autumn
     Of places where dingledodies shambled (the Sun's sign still lights up the Central Street sky)
We got there late and left early and still the vibe
     left me knowing I was home for October --
Windy acorn-dropping October in redbrick Lowell
     that gave us Kerouac the ghost-ridden wordslinger
     that inspired this departure from the traditional "report" on my visit
          (no chronology, no pictures but word-pictures)
     that left me chilled and thankful in my bony soul
What have I left out? Everything. And nothing.
Amen.