Private Gum

  
   "Private Gum"
   
   It wasn't the layers that mattered to Decker, a German-lathered lad with champagne-blonde feathers and arctic blue eyes gone electric; still, the time had come to venture into the NORTHWEST of it all, meet radical Robin, smeared in the stain of a rainbow's multi-hued promise, the somewhat Chippewa Cree lass that didn't reside in the Rocky Mountain Reservation, but had a shimmering shanty in The Last Great Place's rural fields of living, where a single action .44 Magnum was needed by women to shoot a Brown Bear if attacked during an innocent squat in the woods, better than flushing it into God who knows where, like the chicken in some southern rivers--it has all been mentioned before, and the beauty of Free Lands there (WESTERN), lit beyond comprehension of those not being Blake's mental traveler, for there resides the royalty of lollygag with luminous purpose, remembering that time is relative, and the days are more romantically free in such a magical land of instinct, them animal spirits commanding the day, and yet even a walk in the heavens for an approaching German immigrant intent on the purpose of a retro-active life of many a lasso, and yet he preferred the motorcycle over the horse.
   So, piloting his GN 250, a 1980's model of a tough, little Suzuki, armed with Bruce Lee intensity; plus, the style of Cary Grant in a tuxedo--they say:  "No man looked suaver in such sophisticated fashion."  But some like Steve McQueen.  Never can tell.