two crystalline pure du jour hippie sisters
named integrity and compassion
dash together into the middle of a crowded city street
twirl and prance
sashaying nonchalantly between broken white crosswalk lines
smoky astral brains
braless tie-die titties
and seashell earrings bombulating and pinwheeling
turning land mines into late afternoon chocolate cake
and missile launchers into box lunches
to be sampled next to dreamy cornfields
and mystical cow pastures
their bathtub watering troughs rubbed like magic ants for genetic serenity
and if that is not enough irresistible frontal lobe stroking
to rescue all of us
they’ll boogaloo and shimmy bellbottomed riffs
at the CVS storefront
as they peer deeply into cherubic gold/blue skies
swimming with Israeli jet fighters that are really butterfly kisses
and just as bodacious
curtsey and whirl
as they twirl main street tanks and banks
into sumptuous condos for homeless HIV Zen masters—
those blasé street corner poets
that used to be stock brokers
haunted by the eerie saxophone aria
that twists and curls lonely parking lots
into insidious rain forest plots
to take over the whorl