"The avarice of an incarnate machine"
If Union Blue was here--they'd sing it better; regardless:
Spirit spiraling in the passionate, human machine,
Like nuclear engines morphing me amorous and plenty keen,
Yet the crystal-hued calm from Spirit when focused on inside
Magnanimously spawns me a glamorous, pseudo-Saint's ride--
I share welcome synergy with my singular spouse,
And I purify with crucifixes my old ghost house.
"Jazzmin Flush (72)"
Rascal had begun to deliver her coydog/California-man pups. Jazzmin and Fredrica were the bar maids, bringing plenty of Wicca-celebrated John Barleycorn rebirthed in bottles after the divine, resurrecting harvest. Thomas was absent during the female fest.
Thomas drifted the streets of L.A. in this story's non-linear futurity, observing with keen, wolf sense the streetfire known as the levitation trains. Too, he transcended the urban despair of it all, wending his wolfy way into the swank of it all, getting highly cosmopolitan in his brain's photography of remembrance. He watched as the richly elegant walked hand in hand, ornamented in the finest clothing capitalism could buy. And he wondered woefully. Would he ever adore Jazzmin Flush in such splendor? How was he supposed to even buy her a ring? Yup, even though he was the arctic wolf, the Spirit Wolf, he was still a poor boy. Then it hit him--a wolf can smell precious stones underground; thus, he would go on a rich man's safari to unearth jewels for his beloved, Jazzmin. And, if his dog got lucky and had a day; next, he would ask Miss Jazzmin Flush for her soul in marriage.
"Privilege of being Blonde"
I can make my own damn money;
As a result, I can taste a man like golden honey,
Dripping the yummy ooze of sticky love on beastly buns;
This shrew ain't need no tame--our family, mommy runs.
It's not about closing my eyes and picturing dollar signs during the nature of sex;
It's about allowing love, getting a sexy guy to devour my jungle like a T-Rex.
"Jazzmin Flush (71)"
Jazzmin Flush did not recklessly rush back into the suave swing of things. Of course, her employment at the L.A. Derelict had been logically terminated since the coydog apprehension of Mister Merlin Pope--the entire, bizarre-laced scenario being a set-up by the crystal uncouth of modern media, greedily getting an amphetamine-fueled story by whatever unnecessary means to inspire readers into purchasing product--the esoteric kinda information that should be free.
Jazzmin Flush was cool with Rascal now too. Played fetch and Frisbee with the curvaceous coydog girl to keep her in shape during pregnancy; plus, scooped her poop out of the yard, her (Rascal) now residing with Donald Flush in a ghetto house with a Carolina-blue-hued, Astro Turf-like yard--very stylish for the time. Donald (Daddy) away on financial dealings with the sinister lady of his past, and Rascal fearing he might never return, but Jazzmin was all big sisterly, offering needful nurture. And just when it all seemed dandy, and that the wacky world was in high cotton, Rascal turned to Jazzmin's California gold and muttered: "If your Dad and me get married--I'll be like your mother or something."
"Big Orange versus Orange"
Seems like the rusty android, Peyton Manning, played 37 years for UT;
Nevertheless, it was Tee Martin who scored them to victory;
Regardless, back when dubbed "the Orangemen"
Syracuse was cooler than Sherilyn Fenn,
With a name not to blame,
Yet now: let the ORANGE have pigskin synergy and play for that hue's fame;
Indeed, the Orange Bowl will never be the same,
For braggadocio should be this color's claim.
"Having a werewolf pet"
Way middle down in Tennessee,
Where country music don't sing about true, American victory,
Hiding behind the strict corners of the flag,
Not knowing: the shimmering stars and lambent stripes give larger brag;
Alas, my pet werewolf stole my bone;
Thus, I hunt for America in the inhuman woods alone,
Finding my crop, and hunting the swift, Canadian goose
To bring back to my werewolf--I never let him loose.
Or is it me?
Duh, I'm so unaware of my dualistic destiny.
"Hayride Hallelujah"
The True Artist, forged from Himself,
Always hanging on Pre-Creation,
Existing due to a stubborn spirit of determination--ahem:
Alas, country lass is passionately ignited,
And man, if armed with couth and charm, can get her dance deliciously excited;
Thus, lovingly lasso the sicko, and unleash your best beast,
For a beautiful woman, so many, will submit and spark to firework heat--
Roll in them balls of thunder; plus, pour her purr some alcohol,
Knowing: Love-Trusting transcends the Garden's self-admiring fall.
