spittin out purple gypsy poems black olives sprinkled,
sprayin gallantly doused free verse, red aloe, and Columbian Gold,
Courvoisier,
honey golden…
(feintin hipster Billy talk):
“excuse me, madams,
did you happen to borrow
my white leather boots last night?
and I seem to have misplaced my turquoise tooth”
-trickster cryptic Billy talk:
“yup, no spurs stickin this rider
starin from actual azurite middle eye
hypnotizin judges with”: (Billy laughin-cigarette danglin)
"but absolutely ladies,
will hang out right here
while you change into somethin more comfortable…”
days earlier thereby planning
the great SanFrisco escape together,
us hustlin time howlin over morning beers,
foam toppin tall glasses naturally,
a ripped beamin Billy
like WC Fields pronounces from the corner of his mouth:
“party of two poets
require a pretrip eatable Copper Queen meal!”
twitchy nervous waitress scribblin away on her pad
then early spring snapshot of there we were
BisbeeCityParkBench slouchin
eastcoast rookie
westcoast brujo,
singin this impromptu song that went:
“strop our fiddles,
yea yay we hail,
let's croon this holy April Fool’s Day tune,
cause another Salt Lake check’s in the mail”
this sundown Billy masterpiece, lonesome
bandito desert Adonis,
hoverin somewhere along Naco Road
grinnin straight up to heaven,
seldom waverin wontedly swayin,
straddlin runaway faraway Hawaiian wooden ships
while spinnin his black olive poems,
while tokin his primo Columbian Gold,
while sippin Courvoisier verse
and to the grave
ownin a gifted Poet's gift
far more audacious
than any other bard's honey gold
San Francisco
19+73 (resurrected 2/11/2021)