DICK HICKOCK

The sound of Dick’s voice—

It was like the injection

Of some potent narcotic

Invading my veins

It produced a delirious—

Colliding sensation, fast

And furious, lotsa tension

And then some relief

Dick changed the plates—

Cashed some bad checks,

Fleeced some old friends,

Got us a couple of hundred

But Dick and I were—

Running a race without

A finish line, broke again

On the way to Las Vegas

Ditch me, he was totally

Sick of me, my nagging

Whispering voice & shit

Suspicious, spiteful—

Self-righteous, with my

Weeping womanly eyes

Like a wife he had to ditch

My Indian-Irish superstition—

My aches and pains, my bad

News paranoia all the time

About what we’d done there

It was goodbye, Perry—

No more lies about fortunes

Get rich quick schemes and

All that phony con-man shit