Poetry: Saga of The Autistic Cowboy

A surreal sci-fi/cowboy punk hybrid.

Sorta like a Horse Opera Odyssey… from an alien point of view.

One of my “Songs Without a Singer.” (More here.)

Beat: Bing Crosby Texas Swing

Saga of The Autistic Cowboy

He roams Death Valley, that Autistic Cowboy
On a SPASTIC pony, like some visiting android
Just above hell, WAY beneath heaven,
Taking in sights & the occasional beatin’…

An idiot Banksy spray painting signs,
Bombing petroglyphs & tags from gentler times.
A weird point of view, but nothing new to say,
Just “Kilroy was here, on this one weird day.…”

Yippie yi yo kayah!
Yippie yi yo kayah, oh!
Echoes the call
Of the Autistic Cowboy.
Yippie yi yo kayah, oh!
Yippie yi yo kayah!
Just one more toke
For that awkward cowpoke….

Lopin’ & copin’, while ridin’ & writhin’,
Past Joshua trees & all-night drive-ins,
Where samurais & geishas glow in low-wattage,
Repeating dim scenes of blood & of bondage….

No bedroll ‘neath stars, just bunking in No Tells,
While neon ads sizzle, “For the Discreet Clientele,
Concrete Privacy Assured… plus Pool & TV!”
Guests smoke designer weed, dreaming they’re free.…

Calloo, Callay!
Callay, Calloo!
Echoes the scream
Of the filter-less cowhand.
Callay, Calloo!
Calloo, Callay!
That vision-questing pilgrim
Drunk on truth serum….

He can NOT translate the native primates,
Speaking a language of grunts & handshakes,
Whose words rarely say the Whys that they mean…
So to mean what you say… his Original Sin.

He wore a gold earring picked up in Tijuana,
Til some dude in a bar said, “Hey, ya wanna
Step outside & discuss your manhood?”
His Talk on Kinsey got him beat damn good….

But he loves the silence and time to ruminate
On that sci-fi classic he struggles to create,
Not on Alt Universes but Alternate Whos —
“Wacko in a Wack Land,” the title he chooses….

An ET taking snaps with his eyes,
‘Shopping & posting tourist memories.
But the lesson he can’t get thru his sick dome
Aliens gotta go hard, or they gotta phone home….

The mating call
Of this lonesome buckaroo.
Trips over his feet, eyes fixed above,
That hunka-hunka-hunk of yearning love….

To be continued.

Not sure where he’s headed yet….

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