Bumbucha Dreams

Bruno and Zeus stay howling.

Da blast
skyrockets me towards Pluto
where I crash land.

One blue-tongued plutonian
points at
plenty kanes, all named Lars
in der bebadeez.

Dey ski past.

Shoots, I follow dem.

Seconds pass, I ripped
from da blue tundra
by one nodda wail.
I spock da ambulance
speeding from da North Shore.
I stay talking Italian
to one Russian tita
wit one blue smile.

I drink one beeg Slurpee.

Da siren no’moa.

I ski to da fewcha
wea ereteeng blue.
I jettin wit Willie K.
on top da ocean.

Garrens!

Wat dat mean cuz?

Popular posts from this blog