He trailered his madness on an old hay wagon and traded a
Padre two pigs and four chickens for an old paint to pull it proper. He set off
on a pencil sketch of a day to try and find a poultice to take the sting out of
his rope burn existence and to look for a woman with lithe fingers and patchy
hair who would appreciate his wit.
On a trail
through the Cumberland Gap, he came upon a spring and drank heavily from a cup
made from the skin of a Cork Bark Fir. His madness oozed from beneath the tarp
and crept up behind him as he stared at his reflection in the water. It spoke
to him of wasted energy and lost souls and a need to stay put. The path to
happiness was fraught with tigers. He looked and listened and gave his journey
nary another thought, content in his role of the universal fool unspooling.