"White Coyote and Virgin of Guadalupe"
Sprawling suburban and rural around,
Skulking sweetly with a teacher's sound--
Coyote Cool spotted the Great, Virgin Saint,
Knowing the Virgin of Guadalupe does not deny love--will with the impoverished acquaint;
Hence, a piece of boiled fish
Materialized for the coyote's faithful wish.
"Jazzmin Flush (6)"
After a protracted, bizarre symposium on the super-serum known as Truth, which is a bitter pill for yeast and man-cheese, Thomas invited Jazzmin Flush into his humble abode. There, throned upon carpet and ash, Thomas entertained the angelic poet, her kneeling down next to his skeletal emaciation.
JAZZMIN
Man--you look real bad.
THOMAS
Monks get steeled by neglect.
JAZZMIN
You might wanna eat a cheeseburger, or six of them. I suggest plenty of mayo, and pour some gravy over them too.
THOMAS
I'll try.
JAZZMIN
Will you? Look Thomas, it doesn't matter what girls and their hypersensitive males holding extinguished torches say. The Total Truth is a Super-Sublime Brute at the end.
THOMAS
I've sinned as well, but I always set my scrotum hairs aflame.
JAZZMIN
Don't do that! Crap guy, remember Muhammad Ali--that guy offered not the bullbeans of bravado when he spoke of the Divine.
THOMAS
What did he say?
JAZZMIN
Something like: I AM THE MAN OF THE LAND . . .
"Queen Leia"
Why do creepy guys drool over me in Jabba's bikini?
Are they attempting compensation for Force-thin linguine?
Look--I'm a nice Lady,
And kissing my brother is as hearty as Mon Mothma's gravy,
But Han Solo is the scoundrel for me--
So know: Urinating on Hoth will an icicle pee be.
"Quasi-Albino, Punk Cut, Mourning Blade . . ."
Alas, sophisticated synergy of femme fatale with the Gods
Is wisdom's fruit, like unto borrowed nods
From above--within the Empyreal Spangle,
Where all written life does like unto a fig from a tree dangle;
Thus, lace up them boots,
Allowing Lady Patrick to blow away mostly scarlet-necked coots.
"Jazzmin Flush (5)"
Jazzmin Flush knocks on Thomas' trailer door under purple sunset of Californ--IA. She's got a Dodger cap on, looking golden. Hears feathery footsteps quicksilver around in locked retreat. Says the name "THOMAS" 29 times until there's an answer from behind the cheap barrier.
JAZZMIN
You okay buddy? Your sister asked me to pray for you.
THOMAS
Are you that weirdo poet named Jazzmin?
JAZZMIN
I'm the weirdo?
THOMAS
Look, I just wanna be left alone.
JAZZMIN
To torture yourself?
THOMAS
Worked out well for plenty of the Saints.
JAZZMIN
Come on guy--the world is blooming.
THOMAS
With toxins and poison people--vipers I tell ya, everywhere.
JAZZMIN
Snakes can be charmed.
THOMAS
By rich people.
JAZZMIN
You got me there.
THOMAS
Hey Jazzmin--you know what Jesus has been doing for the last two millennia? He's been trying to figure out how to return and kick everybody's ass without hurting their feelings.
JAZZMIN
He's such a nice Lord.
"American Language; plus, Anchors Aweigh"
President Clinton discriminates not;
Indeed, he adores all flavors of the Multiversal Knot;
Alas, America is a wacky dictionary--
We invented hamburgers with mayo, and a Hebrew Pickle dandy;
Thus, college is crafted to get you in their economic design,
And Plato knows--we've been refashioned soooo much--she's got the cerebral line,
But Christ's wise action dictates to obey man's law too;
Unfortunately, a local Deputy Dawg can be the ruination of Federal True.
"Jazzmin Flush (4)"
Taco days--so cheesy. Jazzmin Flush tightened a soft shell around a hearty scoop of sour cream over pulled chicken and shredded cheddar; next, she willfully wrapped up the yummy edible, sending it on its way. Then, her Mexian friend Fredrica gently squeezed her arm, and took her behind the diesel-burning taco truck. "Smoke break."
Fredrica, sucking down the preserving tobacco product, it armed with a charcoal filter, dished:
"You gotta pray for my bro, Thomas. He's been locked inside his government-funded trailer for nine months. Chiseled by the angels he is. Yet after dismissing horn-hungry girls and their wanting vaginal cavities--they cursed him. He's a solitary man, and it's unfair to fight demons after having been touched by angels. Guy has set himself on holy fire, purifying his celibacy; still, they come--all because he won't lay their desired pipe; specifically, he won't make fun and play with reptiles. Even these canonized whores' boyfriends wanna kill him cause their girlfriends have a thirsty urge for his angelity. It's so cruel and unusually usual Jazzmin."
Jazzmin Flush borrowed the burning butt. Inhaled, exhaled, letting her innards carry her pure yearnings to Grandfather and His Holy Family. Maybe, maybe, she'd splurge and get some peach schnapps in a recycled glass bottle on the way home. God Bless Thomas and his lack of bold to battle with rotten fruit she thought, further knowing: Once the sophisticated lame make divine friends, there is nothing offered to adversarial parties save--MIRROR OF JUSTICE and TOWER OF IVORY.
