spittin out purple gypsy poems sprinkled black olives,

sprayin free verse gallantly doused red aloe and Columbian Gold,

Courvoisier,

honey golden

(1)

-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 on 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…”

(2)

days earlier

thereby plannin

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!”

as a twitchy nervous waitress scribbles away on her pad

(3)

then early spring snapshot of there we were

slouchin on BisbeeCityParkBench,

eastcoast rookie

westcoast brujo,

singin this impromptu song that went:

“strop our fiddles,

yea yay we hail,

let's croon aonother tune this holy April Fool’s Day,

cause another Salt Lake check’s in the mail”

(4)

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 primo Columbian Gold

sippin Courvoisier verse,

and to the grave

ownin that Poet's gift,

far more audacious

than any other bard's honey gold

San

Francisco

19+

73

(resurrected 2/11/2021)