Once upon a midnight dreary
While I sat with Timothy Leary
Over some four-way windowpane I'd come to score --
There came into the room, a-rapping,
Ken Kesey with his gum a-snapping,
And an angel-child who somehow looked half-whore --
Quoth the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
We spoke a while of trips not taken
To places good and Godforsaken
'Tween Satan's den and humid Singapore --
I began to wonder, "Does he dig me?"
As we spoke of rhymes and Rigby
(A certain Rigby, name of Eleanor) --
Quoth the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
"There are trips," he said (and in a sly way),
"Both in the mind and on the highway,
In which the searcher is the thing searched for --
Such thoughts, perhaps, may well nonplus,
But if they do -- GET ON THE BUS."
So clambered I onto the jitney's floor --
Roared the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
"I hope we pass through San Diego,"
I thought while on the bus all Day-Glo.
The California coast I do adore --
I asked him where the bus was heading,
Eugene, S.F., or merely Redding.
Though I saw myself at once in Labrador --
Replied the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
We hurtled down the road sans pause
From Xanadu straight through to Oz,
Annapolis, and the eastern shore --
At this last, I had to wonder,
And, presently, began to thunder,
"No poet ever lived in Baltimore!"
Smiled the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
Outside Mali, Tashkent, or Turkey --
Perhaps it was just Albuquerque --
Our bus enveloped by an awful roar --
Red lights upon us flashed, and, tailing,
A siren in the night was wailing,
And we knew right then we had a visitor --
The wind was singing, "Furthurmore."
"Your license, please," he said to Neal
(Casady, who had the wheel),
While swaggering like a conqueror --
"And cause that racket to be still,
The Deadly Grateful, or what you will,
So I might complete anon this lawful chore --"
Grinned the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
'Twas then that Kesey's young companion
From bus-top leaped with sweet abandon
And sidled up quite near our servitor --
Her look, I say, was most angelic
(Her costume, though, more psychedelic)
But in his eyes a motley visage to deplore --
Hummed the Kesey, "Furthurmore."
He finished up, but 'fore he vanished
She said to him, "You must be famished.
Please let us feed you something, I implore --"
And set before that callow rookie
A fat and dun, misshapen cookie.
A kind of brownie he had never seen before --
Laughed the Kesey, "Furthurmore!"
He took the sweet and quickly ate it
And another, and then we waited
While he opened up Perception's Door --
Thereupon he gave a giggle
That caused his uniform to wriggle,
Shaking to the ground the badge he wore --
Quoth the police, "Furthurmore?"
"I'm citing you," the cop said, mellow,
"For being purple, green and yellow.
And for having wings like dinosaurs --
And for making time go backwards,
And hanging up those Day-Glo placards,
You know the ones, too truthful to ignore --
Reading only, 'Furthurmore!'"
"Fair enough," said Kesey, smiling
(This in a fashion most beguiling),
"And still I feel that something Furthur is in store --
If you like, please come with us,
Just step right up, GET ON THE BUS;
Will you join our Pranksters' inner core?" --
Quoth the police, "SNURGLEBOP!"
Onto the bus the cop did amble,
As we renewed our holy ramble,
The foggy ruins of Time yet to explore --
Having writ, the Moving Finger
Moved on; and yet there lingered
An echo that will last for Evermore --
The Kesey, quothing, "Furthurmore!"