'The devil must be forced to reveal any such physical evil

    （potions， charms， fetishes， etc.） still outside the body

    and these must be burned.' （Rituale Romanum， published

    1947， endorsed by the coat-of-arms and introductory

    letter from Francis cardinal Spellman）

    I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra，

    sidewinders in the saloons of fools

    bit my forehead   like   O

    the untrustworthiness of Egyptologists

    who do not know their trips. Who was that

    dog-faced man？ they asked， the day I rode

    from town.

    School marms with halitosis cannot see

    the Nefertiti fake chipped on the run by slick

    germans， the hawk behind Sonny Rollins' head or

    the ritual beard of his axe； a longhorn winding

    its bells thru the Field of Reeds.

    I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. I bedded

    down with Isis， Lady of the Boogaloo， dove

    deep down in her horny， stuck up her Wells-Far-ago

    in daring midday getaway. 'Start grabbing the

    blue，' I said from top of my double crown.

    I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Ezzard Charles

    of the Chisholm Trail. Took up the bass but they

    blew off my thumb. Alchemist in ringmanship but a

    sucker for the right cross.