Jack Kerouac. The Dharma Bums (№ 196948)

Walking in these parts, you can feel the tiny diamonds Eastern haiku; poets who created them, never get drunk in the mountains or anything, was just wandering, as fresh as children writing down what you see, without literary revs and frills, not trying to invent anything or to Express. Climbing up on a scrubby slope, composed haiku we are.
The boulders on the edge of the cliff, - I said, - why not break down?