I met him on the cliffs
of twin rocks oregon
he was sittin on his bedroll
lookin just like richard brautigan
I thought he was an old man
he wasn't but 37
he said he'd been ridin trains
for 15 years
drawin portraits
to keep his belly full of beer
and it looked to me like he'd died
and missed the plane to heaven
but he was a nice ol' guy
for a younger man
he had a bottle of mad dog
he held in his hand
that he waved around a lot
to make his point
and I listened as he told his tales
of wine and women and county jails
and we finished off that bottle
and smoked a half a joint
he said
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