Kooky Lucy Frost (9)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (9)"
   
   Kooky Lucy, unknown to herself, having had ice-water in her veins for years, though sometimes scorched, and running free like a frozen river melted, but always cold again, for she was blessed by being genuine, and what is holy, is protected--bless all those without the venomous vizard that is a monstrous mask--Lucy wore no vizard.
   As she jogged through Pap's suburban-sprawled neighborhood, with her best pal at her heels, she watched as the trash men were more automated, and the losers lose more jobs, though happy to work alone like a Gray Ghost during the Civil War.  We all have our part to play, and some enjoy digging ditches and working with their hands, building a fortress of corporeal steel, like a Yankee ironworker, way up high, seeking the celestial high-tower, and knowing the metaphorical South can only sustain itself on making tampons, and many women in the South still pick their own cotton today, not wanting toxic shock.
   Lucy Frost kept jogging.  Kept remembering the fibs now absent from her future.