The Long Ranger
On such a journey, after Shasta the next
KOA should be Paradise and my jeans are so
wampum tight, and him hurt bad, Chemosambo.
There should be total skies now after rain.
My mantra’s revved, we’re passing trucks
like flies, it’s howdy all the way I say.
Oh, Texas, shelter my annuity for Leman.
Fear not, micro ovens are our propertiers.
In Citronella Square (sic) did you ever
write Mr. Chiang and thank him for that little thing?
Ssh! What could that be? Whose stereo baying
the moon, who could that be? Some one with
a mouth of leather, some one with a rusty mouth.
The fate man peeled an egg and ate it.