Door To Door Campaigner #4


dear burrow-dweller of the desert.

I am Dejah Thoris

a princess of Mars.

I am journeying door to door in Arizona

to win over this Republican bastion for

President Barack Obama.










Time To Cowboy For Obama


Dejah Thoris a princess of Mars

Tars Tarkas of Mars


Martian-volunteer sites for getting out the vote door-to-door in Arizona:




Presented by the reincarnations of Elfego Baca & Davy Crockett…





I coughed up a pack of

Marlboros & I don’t

even smoke


It was another

miracle at

Crossroads Mission


I awoke in the

early morning darkness with

snickering sinuses


Put on my hiking boots without

socks & in my long-johns

headed for the latrine


Over the trash can

I blew my nose then

started coughing


Plop ~ there they were

a pack of Marlboro cigarettes

on top of the trash


One tramp tra-la-la


right there at the mission


I blamed it on the

dormitory with no air but

40 slumbering men breathing anyway…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)


Almost high noon…



I tap tramp trail

selfish soiled slothful ~ won’t

even do a labor job

on the horizon something better gets closer


Yuma ingrown

not too friendly


feeds me


Jesus is

the company

I seek

in my unapproachable way


A cute chubby little blessing

crossing the street

smiles & gives

me the time of day


And in the ghost town of

my mind

a hammer is heard

hitting a nail


The Wall Street Occupiers

& The Tea Party

have started rebuilding

Mary’s Saloon


Where she continues



shots of pure grace


Ahhhhhhh grace

the ability

to do

good deeds


Down the tracks

a shrill whistle

blows &

a train approaches


Bringing us the next



   the United States…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)


I awake!



In the old hotel

Diana & I retire to

a busted-up suite upstairs

& haunt it


While we levitate in the

center of the dusty time-deranged room

indulgently locked in our favorite position & getting along

I fall into a deep deep sleep


When I awake I discover

myself prone on the cracked tiles of

the ancient Egyptian temple that’s half buried

in the sand dunes west of Yuma


Ishtar, the lost Assyrian goddess of love & war

sits up, peers down

at me between her miraculous legs &



“It’s time for you to return to

the Christian mission, Rawclyde

Your 10 days sleeping outside

are over”


She then taps

the back of my head with

her bare heel

which knocks me out


I awake again

having dreamed a dream

that was embraced

in a dream


Now I discover myself alone

in a sleeping bag

on a big pile of dirt & chunks of concrete

in the gravel pit next door to Crossroads Mission


Partnering with nothing


or less

than reality


The sun is about to rise

under a pink bed-spread

stretched across the jagged little mountain range

out yonder


A very long train

thump-thumps by &

somebody fires-up a tractor in

the gravel pit


I, camouflaged

in the early morning shadows on

my cold rocky knoll, instantly

roll-up my bedroll


As I trudge away from the peak

of my dreams

I realize that the invisible cosmic forces of the universe

are all around & inside of me


And that they can be evoked

for the common good

or remain hidden forever in a ghost town

   a ghost town called Love…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)




Walk like an Egyptian…



After a while the people of Yuma, Arizona

grow tired of I, the old mummy,

wandering around town bumping

into things and getting in the way of traffic


Plus my bandages have become yellow &

brown with crusty nausea fluttering

in the wind & dragging on the ground

I unintentionally cause 2 traffic accidents


The police finally catch-up to me

drive me to the California border

point this tired old mummy toward

the dunes, ah yes, giant hills of desert sand


It takes me two days to climb

to the top of a sand dune, ten minutes

to roll down the other side

& then I hear a bird-like female voice


We make small talk until finally

I tell her, “I wish you weren’t

a creature of darkness”

she rips a rag off my face  “Ahhhhhhh!”


And leads me to an ancient Egyptian temple

half buried in another dune

where she presses a button that moves

a slab & we step inside


In a colossus vault painted with moving hieroglyphics

I finally find the lost goddess

or she finally finds me

   an overflow of bubbly joy causes me to collapse…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)



Kicked Out



My compadres lead me

out of the mission

barely can I move

tightly wrapped-up in my bed sheets


Outside the front door

they let go of me

I stumble

step forward into a new day


One of them laughs

& says

“good luck

   old mummy!”



I bumble onward

hardly able to breathe

I gasp


For my head too

is wrapped up


but without complaint


Thru the desert town

of Yuma, Arizona


I wander wander


People look at me


Cars slow down, stop

they let me pass


And I

in a muffled voice


to all


“No problem!  I shall

mellow-inate & glow-ify

all these creatures of darkness

by the astral brightness of my starry nature!”


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)


Pulaski at The Mission



With a bad knee

Pulaski holed-up

at the mission

as the full-time janitor


When I came thru with

my bedroll

he advised me where

I should not lay it down outside


Not because of



because of cops


So I stayed





Pulaski trained me

to be

the mission’s next full-time janitor

but it never happened


After he left to

camp on the river

I ended-up a janitor

only on the weekends


I blog now

on public-library computers

on week days except Monday when

the library is closed


I remember Pulaski

bringing me coffee in the early morning when

on the chapel floor

I was barely awake




have to

do that


But I’m



 he did.


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)





I awake homeless

in the shadows of the night

lying on a top bunk in the corner

   of a dormitory full of snoring hacking men…


A beaurucrat has explained to me that

eight & a half months from now

I can start getting social security

   I’ll be 62 years old & hopefully still free…


An ancient Egyptian entity

breaks through, informs me

that I’m really lying on a small raft

   floating on the celestial Nile…


   Heading for the grand horizon of heaven…


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)






Yuma’s “good morning” skies


the desert goddess’s eyes

barely open now

and awaiting

her nausea to go away

while radiating more n’ more

solar rays

tainted pretty pink, tainted gothic purple

and finally flashing their blue baby blue

all over the place

and the desert goddess moans

“Is this Goonsville or

is this the ghost town called Love?”


(Copyright Clyde Collins 2011)