I'm waiting on the borderline
sittin' between here and Mexico
those border cops are on the go
I watch them stir and squirm
in this uncomfortable heat wave
summer shifts don't seem like much fun.
I shoulder my rucksack and continue on
past the dust and sombreros
tall lean dark mexicans saunter on up
"ya want drinks booze women?
I know I know."
I walk past the w***e house and opium dens
I'm already a regular
needless to say I'm welcomed back with
open arms,
dancing wildly as I carouse with mad catholic
women to live jazz beats
who twist and writhe and shout out
"twist that cat round you!
Yeah yeah YEAH!
Move move MOVE!"
Sweating and pulsing along this great peyote
railroad nation wild-eyed and
high in the alcoves,
my mind spazzing madly up amongst the
spindly rafters in liberation.
I sleep the night through the day and leave Mexico
sleep-deprived worn torn and blown
all the while taking the time to kneel in front
of the U.S. border and chant Zen to the green
troops sweltering in their tired opression,
I pass on, Mr. Borderline American stops
me,
"Are you an American?"
I shout an enthusiastic "Si!"
"Are you carrying anything that would include
drinks drugs or any diseases?"
"No, no, and none that I can think of Mister!"
Large cop eyes me and states his paranoia,
"Ya carryin' any Mexicanos in that bag of
yours?"
"Sure thing!" I state. "God loves the robin hoods
of the great Mexicali Midwest!"
Young soldiers give me looks of
confusion,
this lunatic is too far gone
poor Buddhist madman.
I pass into America in the comfort of my
shadow,
and look along the great American railway
for a cool chill steel iron bullet to make
its stop in the desert,
there she comes by nightfall,
streaking cold and shining in the moon's
barren pregnant gaze,
bopping and grooving to the beats
of her great traintrack wheels.
I grab my ride and unload my house
eat my modest meal
pork and a can of macaroni
curl up amongst the crates and sleep my
way to the coast
and golden bum California sunsets...
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