dancing with a dinosaur

~

Going To The Chapel Of Love

by Rawclyde !

~

The most beautiful

most ghoulish empress

on Earth

& I

so sly so wry

stood on the top

of a rock pinnacle so high

up there in the desert sky

her one thousand & one demonettes

so wily so crafty

could not answer why

~

Above the panoramic valley of death

swayed her & I

her hair a furious flag of glory

the hat on my head a miracle

that would not blow away

in the blow-torch wind that

scorched wounded & branded our souls

~

The view at our feet

shrank crucifixions & ghost towns

into nothing for nobody but ants

this wild escarpment of God stretched

around the planet & bumped

the back of the head as

we stood there

on the verge of slow dancing

but just holding hands instead

our eyes wide open to

truth

~

Clouds eye-balled by like

thick novels

their pages fluttering to the climax

in a matter of seconds

~

A passing eagle dropped a feather

into me’ lady’s other hand

the great bird snapped her wing

& was gone

~

Diana stuck her new eagle feather into my miracle hat

I became Chief Hopping Rabbit

but we still didn’t dance

~

We only stood there

quietly contemplating the journey before us

then I said to her

“Ready?”

~

She  squeezed my hand

we leaped into the void

ghosts

we floated upward…

~

text copyright Clyde Collins 2012

art copyright Boris Vallejo 1994

photo from short film “On New Years Eve”

~

“the future is not ours to see”

~

A Ghost Town Called Love

~

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happy easter

~

God this, God that, God everything & damn it too

the end of reality’s trail & everything else that’s true

the last frontier of hard facts and how-do-you-do’s

I stood on a hill in deep desert & all I had was ‘de blues

~

Find yourself a woman, lad, and work for a living too

make sure she’s a good woman who will always stand by you

raise some kids or corn and ply your trade on the avenue

or you’ll end up standing amongst the cacti with nothing else to do

~

I stood there hard and long concentrating on every thorn

but no angel arrived blowing music on a golden horn

all was quiet but a little wind, no birds, just some ants

crawlin’ around aimlessly lookin’ for someone with whom to dance

~

I trudged back to the truck, crunching the desert turf along the way

opened the doors to the book-store in the rear without much to say

figured I’d sell a book or two if a miracle happened to stray

but there was nobody around but me on this fine lonely day

~

Nobody but a million catatonic cacti with not much to offer but a thorn

stretching off into the distance come evening and come morn

I sat in the wind & the blood of my brain ~ t’was a mournful song

and then, and then, suddenly, a rabbit come lopin’ along

~

T’was the biggest I’d ever seen, about the size of a dog

a jack rabbit who fit no-ways in any kind of catologue

he wasn’t at all shy like other rabbits in other scenes

when he stopped & asked me, “Have you got any books on human beings?”

~

Stunned, I replied, “I have books on coyotes and snakes

cacti, deserts, rivers, God and whatever it takes

to get along with anything including killer bees

but, but all I have on human beings are fantasies”

~

The rabbit sadly bowed his head, loped away and disappeared

I said to a fly buzzing around my hat, “that was really weird”

closed up the store, bent low to tie one of my worn-out shoes

climbed behind the wheel, bumped on outta them deep desert blues…

~

from the out-of-print book

A Love Song To The American Lizard

by Rawclyde!

alias 

Elvis Bojangles

(Copyright Clyde Collins 1999)

~

Madam Beloved’s

shrine

http://spiritdameshrine.yolasite.com

~

back desert trail

~

In a small cafe of this strange strange land, there appeared one day a long-legged, blue-eyed & blond widow of a deceased Papago Indian.  She darted here & there in her new work-place, a timid critter full of curiosity & wonder.

That beauty is gonna give some poor sucker ’round here a real heart thrashing, I thought, as I bit into a burger & gulped down some hot coffee.

Little did I know, that sucker was I.  And little did I suspect that this 42-year-old, chunky-shouldered damsel was the ethereal Desert Goddess ~ personified!

So 48-year-old me wasn’t thinking much about this long-haired blond gal who come to work in the little cafe in the little crossroad where I sold books outta the Book Mule.  I was just minding my own business.  But, as it turned out, I kind of looked like her late husband whose memory she lingered upon, & who had died less than a year before she & I had a conversation or two.  Then I got hoodwinked into going to a birthday party where she showed up.  And then one night I stopped by the bar where she was “grieving” and she bought me a beer.  And then, and thennnnnnn, the desert goddess coyly rubbed up to me as we sat a ponderin’ on our bar-stools.

The next day, there we were in the desert of my dry dusty dreams come true.  I had parked the Book Mule in one of my hideouts that was lost in cacti & solitude.  And two lonesome souls went on a little stroll.

We embraced ~ and I boldly fell to my knees.

As the world turned, the delicious dianthus of my desert delusions decided she didn’t want anybody to know about us ~ because if the Indian clan of her late husband suspected that we were “seeing each other” before her “grieving” year was up they might murder us.  So she decreed that we could not be seen together in public.  Then she declared that I could not talk to her in front of anybody.  Plus, she demanded that I not go see her ~ or even call her.  My beloved would come see me.

So, after she got off work & became properly inebriated at the local saloon, I would on occasion hear her sandals come a crunching in the gravel, in the still nocturnal hours, outside the Book Mule, inside of which I slept ~ in my “monk cell.”  Incidentally, behind this cell, thru a narrow door, was the book store, which was quite original & quite a store.  It’s amazing what you can do with an old one-ton Ford van.  And it’s amazing how elated I became when I heard the gravel crunch outside.  At first barely audible ~ the crunch step by step crunched closer ~ louder louder ~ and then ~

The melancholy voice of the Desert Goddess still reverberates across the Sonoran silent-night of my mind:

“Chewy,

are

you

in

there?”

~

 Slave

to the

Desert Goddess

by Cloyd Campfire

(2000 A.D.)

~ 1 ~

Chewy Sunset, thee
old hobo, knelt at
Her
  nail-cracked sandaled feet ~

Upon that terrain
from which grows
cacti
creosote and mesquite ~

And thru which meanders
jack rabbits, dry washes
& the unpaved
Pipeline Road ~

About a mile from which
this strange drama
did
unfoad…

~

~ 2 ~

Yeeeeeeeap, swathed in
the singing silence &
dry
summer heat ~

Chewy Sunset
knelt at
Her
immaculate feet ~

To pull a thorn
outta
Her
toe ~

After which occurance
Her eyes
magnified their
inherent glow…

~

~ 3 ~

She was divine-
ly
fine-
ly blessed ~

With long legged
long blond
earth-
iness ~

Frill free
Salvation Army fare
was
Her dress ~

Which detracted not
one tithing
from
Her worthiness ~

She wore a crown of
nothing
but memories
of thee humility ~

Of wifehood to
an Indian bully
a-flirt
with criminility ~

While isolated for years
on thee olde
Indian
reservation ~

Now widowhood in
a tiny desert town was
Her
current station ~

A beauty was She
whose child-like
smile
would never grow old ~

She gazed down upon Chew
thru
slashing blue
eyes made bold ~

By his
ob-
vious
dedication ~

To
Her
desert goddess
radiation…

~

~ 4 ~

Her catharsistic eyes
of
splintering
blue ~

Cast
a
paradisical
hue ~

From which
there
was
no escape ~

Across the
arid
land-
scape ~

Yea, these immensely talented
eyes also melted down
the poor
old boy ~

Who had stayed a-kneel
at Her feet
like some kind of
thrift shop toy ~

Yea, Her eyes melted him down
into
the
desert ground ~

‘Til he heard the
desolate land’s
every
sound ~

From deep in a burrow
the snor-
ing of
a squirrel ~

To the dancing vibration
of
a distant
dust devil’s swirl ~

From chanting ants to
a cactus’s
deep
toe-wiggling feet ~

From horizon
to horizon
Her kingdom played
a cacophony replete ~

Chewy fanned out deep
into the terra firma ’til
he be-
come a part of it all ~

A new mineral deposit en-
slaved to the
Desert Goddess’s
siren call…

~

~ 5 ~

Yeeeeeeeap, there
Chewy Sunset lay
gravel buffed by wind
dirt fine as dust ~

A real part of
the land
or
bust ~

A rattlesnake limp in the
heat, crawled across the spot
looking
for shade ~

The Desert Goddess crushed
the critter’s head with
Her foot
n’ silently bade ~

Them both not to follow
Her and
walking on air
She wandered away ~

Then toward
the end
of
the day ~

Quite a few
miles
a-
way ~

She entered the
local saloon
to
slay ~

An endless thirst
and an endless sorrow
for the end of which
Chewy doth pray.

~

~

photos

Raquel Welch

~

(text copyright Clyde Collins 2012, 2017)

~

Back Desert Trail

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

~

prairie dog blues

by elvis bojangles

~

back in the desert

that won’t go away

that desert o’ mind

forever to stay

~

platonic man dwells

a dream full o’ love

in a comfy bag on the ground

clouds n’ stars up above

~

he dwells upright

beside a friend

they’re tilling her grounds

a dream with no end

~

something stirs him

platonic man awakes

what’s that noise

it cannot be snakes

~

eyes open wide

the ground shakes

a geyser of dirt shoots up

gravel clods flakes

~

A little head pops up

outta the ground

it’s the shape-shifter prairie dog

in the dark comin’ around

~

she says, “have you any

toilet paper, butler?”

the tricks of the night will never

get more subtler

~

text copyright clyde collins 2017