If all the maidens grieve a death
that will excuse the imprints of life
Who’ll stamp my papers of mistaken identity
At the final border for which I strive?
Where across the plaza is convened a sentence
that will be debated for years
how will be divined my infinite longing
and staunch these obstinate tears?
When romance loses pace of its judicious taste
like a barfly at quarter to two
And the latest young beard with a parlance spat weird
Makes for expressions threatening to you.
I never play cards so trips to Reno are hard
With no cowboys or drag queens around
So just give me cruel fingernails on strings
And an honest blare of sunshine in sound.
Where muffled Rota trumpets queue
along with rampant seagull guitars
joining K.C. stride and Sturgis ultra-glide
boarding Sun Ra’s ninth rocket to the stars.
deuce coupe 
a work of art.