Existence Womb (20)

   
   "Existence Womb (20)"
    
   Miriam imbibed the melt-away herb, the indigenous flowering divinity, enhancing consciousness, propelling performance, and allowing entrance into higher levels of consciousness--her particular strain not unlike that used by General George during his first two years of being President, before replacement by his binary self, reducing gum inflammation to lessen the psychosis of true anguish and corporeal suffering.  She imagined people like her living near or in the American South, arrested or worse--prosecuted, paying court fees, paying probation fees, watching Sandra Bullocks's 28 DAYS at least 28 times while undergoing this process of government incarceration, them not knowing of Biblical Kings and their herbal importations, Christ saying He was thirsty, or the first American Flag sewn on cannabis fibers; regardless, she remembered Mom used to say back when she was an awkward child:  "It's a free country honey."     
   Miriam didn't like having more secrets.  Wished she was with the divinely and Davidian-like Justin Trudeau of Canada, where the Great White North offered hope to all peoples with the garden-variety quirks and personal sufferings; plus, allowed Inflammatory Bowel Disease to wend easily into remission, gave cancer patients solace, treated everything, our Godly-inspired bodies having natural receptors fused right within--a synergy with Good, Green Terra.  Yet those people.  Those freaking demon-ignited dolts getting a piece of sublimity and becoming their own ruination and that of others by wasting enlightenment on American Sexuality, the multiplicity of partners, females made to squirt and knighting it high love, while James Joyce pens ULYSSES and only offers linguistic ecstasy through FINNEGANS WAKE, going batshit crazy and halfway blind--what would Internet porn do to that genius, like:  "A drop every minute for Stumblestone Davy, or a rise every morning for Standfast Dick."  Yet when the cops always come to your house, they first ask:  "Has anybody been doing hard drinking?"  And the foolishness of not letting wine make man's heart happy, but the pollution of the soul with utter stupidity, and America has a death-trap bar on every corner; moreover, the American South offers rare public transportation of any sorts--pseudo-cowboys, not Western save in Clint Eastwood's day, thinking their macho, monster trucks killing the globe are hot-trotting for women known as peanut butter because they spread so college-like and easy.  It's all bullshit.  
   And Miriam had been up for 22 hours pulling radiators outta STARSKY AND HUTCH Gran Torinos all day, without even a MILKY WAY bar to fuel her loving labor; regardless, she took her illegal medicine, got into bed, beat her pariah complex into the black, thought of how gorgeous Bernie Sanders was and that Clinton was a phony not needing the Virgin Mother's Queen of Heaven Coronation to be mocked here on Terra's invaded and reptilian-smeared surface; furthermore, she found 4 hours of peaceful sleep before a much a nagging need to urinate woke her from kissing Matthew McConaughey and then laughing to his perfumed face with glee, before breaking out in an awkward-sounding, non-soprano girl sound of a quasi-Christmas jingle:
  
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony;
I'd like to hold it in my arms
And keep it company.

   No more Coca-Cola before bed--the protracted urination kept her awake afterwards, and she blazed a sulfur and phosphorus-inspired match--the kind you can never find at restaurants anymore; next, gave fire to the organic tobacco, blowing her prayers to God and giving the Virgin Mother honor with praise and delicate invocation, mentally telling the reptilians to stay in hell, unless of course, this Earth was a piece of it.