I’d rather be … racing Dallas in two Veyrons pulsing
along Mogollon Rim the special boy in the back of the bus
waves the prosaic cassette Billy Joel, Bob, Dustin, Bryan
The Stranger panic aci-cide on the sand
(and pummeling Jimi with a bass speaker)
“I speak Jive” and they walked
heather strewn waveforms noses breathing fate
they took the hands of gypsies smug wives in heat
they crossed the sparrow with the witch
blew smoke inside the stories of victims cold but for the fire
took the minds beguiled puritan teens with sweat
AND they handed Godhead itself to Arcata Pete
raised wishes to withering demands
caressed the breasts of fools
bowed to the iron teeth of feminine power (swung and danced)
rolled and trekked with partners blissful orange redwood sunsets
then the air crystallized in purity
Bodhisattva gasp