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