El Vaquero

cow10

~

by Rawclyde!

(1980)

~

Part One

~

I was ridin’

my mule

stalking

 the great horned toad

~

 Wondering

am I

Brother Eternity or

 Dead End Road

~

 Fightin’ off

the heat

&

 a hungry vulture

~

Across

the insurmountable desert

of a

single man’s culture

~

I was pouring sand

out of my canteen

when

 thee ol’ mule died

~

 As I walked away

from

the poor dead thing

 I almost cried

~

My

feet

kept

 stallin’

~

 Pretty soon

I

was

 crawlin’

~

‘Til I was at

the edge

of a wide deep hole

 in the ground

~

 N’ you won’t believe

what

I saw

 when I looked down

~

Way

down

down

  down there

~

I saw a Cyclops’s brain

without a skull

or

hair

~

Bloody

& glowing

& big as a

hotel

~

It

beckoned

to me & suddenly

I fell

~

Had a funny feeling

I was fallin’

into

hell

~

Had a funny feeling

I’d be

gone

for a spell

~

Prayed a quick prayer

that was

quick

 as a shot

~

The brain gulped

n’

now this boy is

   food for thought…

~

~

Part Two

~

After

I was swallowed up

by the

    prehistoric brain

~

 I kept on fallin’

like a

drop

of rain

~

Fell thru fleecy clouds

that

like scholars

 quoted many a book

~

Fell into

the middle of a city

that had

a haunted look

~

When you are food

for thought

you grow light like

dust

~

So

when

I hit the street

 I didn’t bust

~

 I just stood there

n’ gawked

at the haunted city

 around me

~

 N’

let

it

 be

~

 The buildings were not

built

of brick

 or steel or wood

~

But they

were

built

good

~

 Out

of

experiences

 long gone

~

Like dancing

below the border

’til

 dawn

~

 Or driving across

a vast country

in an

old slow truck

~

N’

occasionally

getting

stuck

~

 Or working a job

day

after

day

~

For

less

than

 fair pay

~

Then

with

 nothin’

 to say

~

Qwitting

in

a

 spectacular way

~

For

ye olde

whore

 called Glory

~

Or

writing

a

 story

~

Yeeeeeeeap

experiences long gone

these

 haunted buildings were

~

Inside a brain

that was

crazy

for sure

~

There were

beautiful woman

daydreams

 walking all over the place

~

 Each one

a slice of heaven

 begging to

 sit on my face

~

The prettiest

sat at a bus stop

looking in her purse

for a dollar

~

Her breasts were

peek-a-boo secrets

under a

   very unbuttoned collar

~

She crossed

her soul smokin’

legs

   lifted one somewhat high

~

Panty flash

blinded

my

eye

~

 Her dress

slipped

up

 her thigh

~

She

looked

up

  n’ said “Hi”

~

 I could tell

she was looking

for

 somebody to meet

~

So I tripped

on the curb &

fell

 at her feet

~

Attempted to lick

her delectable leg

nothing was there

but air

~

She was only

a daydream

there was nothin’

to share

~

I

groped

about

town

~

Feelin’

kind

a

down

~

Started back alley’

 driftin’

thru this haunted city in

a mind

~

A city

nailed together

by experiences

 of every kind

~

Like

discovering in

a tree a

 circular branch

~

Or

working

on

 a ranch

~

Or

going

nuts

 in a jail

~

Or

around each corner

learning to

 gracefully fail

~

Yeeeeeeeap

I was back alley

driftin’

   in somebody’s brain

~

When I spied a

little girl

with her ankle

 locked to a chain

~

An ordinary little girl

quiet as

a

mouse

~

On top o’

the

tallest

house

~

That’s

where

she

sat

~

Sadder than

a cowboy

without

 a cowboy hat

~

I climbed the stairs

asked her

what her name

might be

~

She said, “My

name

is The Peace And Comfort

 Of Reality”

~

She had

freckles on

her face

 & knobby knees

~

Her hair

was

full

 of fleas

~

Her eyes were

blue

like a

    teeter tottering prayer

~

My heart almost

exploded as

I looked at her I

swear

~

N’ the next

thing

she

 had to say

~

Was “Pleeeeeeease

take

me

  away”

~

So I leaned over n’

the chain on her ankle

I was

 about to break

~

When the clouds above went

crazy

quoting books for

 a soul’s sake

~

Quoted so many

so loud

all the buildings

 began to shake

~

N’ all the

pretty daydreams

below

 began to make

~

So much noise howlin’

they seemed to be

witches

 burnin’ at the stake

~

N’ I half expected

the chain in my hand

to turn into

 a snake

~

N’ across the desert

on

top

 o’ the sky

~

Where the sun

is fierce

& the

 humor is dry

~

There appeared on

a mule

a vaquero

 ridin’ by

~

Oh

my

oh

 my

~

His craftsmanship in

the saddle

made me

 look like a fool

~

He was the

parable

of parables

 so God awful cool

~

The chain in

my hand turned

cold

like ice

~

N’ before

I

could

 think twice

~

Like a

crack

of lightning above

a plastered lake

~

El Vaquero said

“Don’t”

so I didn’t

   n’ now I’m awake…

~

~

Part Three

~

Yeah

now

I’m

 awake

~

Sittin’ at thee ol’

dream table

trying

 not to shake

~

It’s 4 o’clock in

the morning

the sun

  will be here soon

~

I must have dozed

off

dreaming

  yesterday afternoon

~

Of course the brain

I’ve

been walking in is

 my own

~

It makes me

kinda sad

seeing how it’s

grown

~

Such a haunted

home

for The Peace And

  Comfort Of

~

Jesus please

help me

learn

    how to love…

~

tony-alvis-mule-rider

art by

Ladislao Loera

http://www.frenzyart.com

photo:

anonymous

text:

Copyright Clyde Collins 2014

~

Back Desert Trail

http://backdeserttrail.yolasite.com/we-the-people.php

~

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About Rawclyde!

I have employed a few pen names throughout the years. Rawclyde with an exclamation mark (!) is the one too sticky to go away... Came of age at Crawford High, San Diego, CA ~ writing sports, a column, & playing football ~ graduated in '68... Attended SDSU for a couple years... Hit the road in a '56 Chevy milk-truck, a "studymobile," filling up notebooks & working as a laborer in the southwest... Practiced the genteel art of fiction for several years in my hometown... Enlisted in the U.S. Army ~ they made me a newsman in Hawaii ~ wrote another column for a while... Attended more courses at SDSU ~ studied novel writing with Professor Charlie Brashers... Sold books out of an '85 Ford one-ton van, a "book mule," in the desert... Did some writing in an old hotel in Prescott AZ... Have written & self-published 9 or so books ~ many of which are hiding out on the cyber highway...
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2 Responses to El Vaquero

  1. Roger Komula says:

    Thank you. A breath of fresh air. Date: Mon, 16 Jun 2014 20:14:47 +0000 To: komula@outlook.com

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