crude oily and a liar too



and then I rode up off the plains on my huge black bay



and from the scrub brush a young, sweaty dwarf

(my Sancho)

hailed me, waving his black sombero amidst swinging bandoliers:



"Ho, Inebriado!"



and the peaks in the distance were white Stolichnaya

and each green pine dotting them was a woman's vagina

and the burr of my mustache was Canadian Club



and my toes were beadies

and my fat joint



was just that