‘Broken Dreams’, Ione Citrin
Wither West by Michael Schram Wither west like the cheeks of an ancient hornman, Stretched by the pressure of jazz passion. Push west where the very vowels of Kerouac mince on the mind. Where notes and chords are blown to die. Where billboards like gravestones record the final act. Ah Frisco The end of the line, Thin laws and thick syrup, Ah Jack, Your artist is dead.