money wont change you

who notices that snaky wind

bargin past cowboy band station breaks,

as more stale dry beer gets served up

at the all-night dance floor

and who notices clever splinters

layin in wait for somebody’s bare feet

milkin gravy bleed from popped veins,

pulled back into muzzles

all tied up

severed junky arms and legs

so better check your spurs for dust

or rotted horse flesh at the door,

you may be a counterpart ingredient,

the great stall of the bob weave float,

convicted of sinkin sandpits underground

cause waitin for it to happen

leaves you flatfooted,

and way too available

Tucson, 1973