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)