Blue Booyah and Black Sandals

Blue booyah and black sandals. Dayglow closed. Wrought iron gates shut black. Where’s Nicely-Nicely and Josh? Who’s running the coffee-store? I’d like my breve now, please. Please, I’d like my breve now. People walking up. Looking up from their smart phones with befuddled quizzical looks. Closed. Closed. Your what? Love beams and moon-rockets shoot off the roofs of 2-story condos on Huntley. I’ve got my silver ring today. Got to look for copper. More copper. Ground the root with daffodils and empathy. Coochie-coo and Vatican hoss-gow. I get you, Ace. I get you. Writhing ‘til I reach the end of the page. Josh rockets in. I’ll have my breve now. Metal gates clang open. Pushed and hurried cockroaches scatter, scatter, scatter in the night of the Rue de Paul. Exhausted muscles and not enough sleep. “Where can I go?” the cappuccino maker asks. SSS. SSS. Hissing like a snake. I get it, brother. I get it. Like a slithering cottonwood easing through the waters with its mesmerizing glow. Et tu, Brut aftershave. So be it. I’ll kiss you now.