Weredog Tart (1)

   
   "Weredog Tart (1)"
   
   Siria wasn't pleased with her name due to the modern times.  Even though crowned in mousy brown hair with arctic blue eyes, she was harassed by her summer school classmates, writing nasty notes to her, spelling her name Syria, and dubbing her a terrorist.
   Siria didn't hang her glow downwards save to grow the vegetation beneath her feet.  Drink a few beers underneath the heat of our Moon's daystar reflection, squat and make a good piss, like a dog--her name related to Sirius, the brightest star-system in the Earth's nocturnal sky, a dog star; specifically, Sun-bright, glowing and with effulgent shine.
   But being a teenager is tough.  Security.  Cops.  More cops.  Psychologists.  Bullshit.  All she needed was some urban fantasy paperbacks, a few beers on the weekend, her weekly Judo classes, and a perpetual motion towards a destiny determined to adore the antiquated gifts of Christ, no longer adhered to as the birth pains have ignited, and only those able to pass the painful kidney stones of existence will be peacefully delivered.
   Too, she was pulling for the Cubs this year even though residing in Pittsburgh all her eighteen years.  Hell (as for the Cubs), an eternity of being an underdog deserves some cheer, baby.  

Liberty's Sparkle (85) Epilogue

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (85) Epilogue"
   
   Liberty realizing the shift in the Irish Bard's infamous and yet famous, ever-told soul, not surgically precise, but robotics might be even more one day, possibly; still, the slur of her own observations, highlighted by golden pilsner that was resurrected in her every day wake, her offering:  "A drop every minute for stumblestone Davy; a rise every morning out of standfast dick."   Her own vinyl record--it played well, even backwards.
   But there would be no solemn reverie for Liberty in the near futurity of it all, so accepting, igniting her indigo fire to keep the trailer trash away, yet embracing those made platinum by dire circumstance, as if protected by guardians from the Otherworld.
   And Bobby Rook, in the straight direction of capturing her Queen, across the entire board until a keel loosed upon a small geography, with some visits to the ocean's buoyant drift, making love in an infinite number of ways save insertion of selfishness; indeed, always adoring, and the whispers of weird behind their backs, yet behind, as they zoomed in the singular direction of God, like us all, and He remembered Liberty and Bobby Rook and the whole gang, even the sleazy trailer women, never not continuing rising the Sun of mercy over every soul, for even a dwarf can punch a giant in the nutsac; thus, Liberty let loose upon the Earth, giving golden glow, stardust eternal, and the smile on many faces of tiny little people, so large as David was always a King, knowing they would gamble for His garments, yet only terrified of God, as was Liberty intrinsically, not wanting to taste the quill's possible Godsmack.  Carry on extra-crispy Colonel Sanders, yes, carry on . . . 

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Liberty's Sparkle (84)

   
 
   "Liberty's Sparkle (84)"
   
   After the swine was gracefully toasted and cooked according to the rosemary and its beneficial awesomeness, Liberty and Bobby Rook separated their synergy of possible carnal copulation, mounting the bunk beds in singular fashion, though Spanky on her downwards bunk.
   And she went into a deep sense of Rapid-Eye-Movement, even though smeared in shots of whiskey from the trailer girls, the sophisticated sour mash egging her onward, till completion of competition; nevertheless, deep down inside, Liberty only liked to play for fun.
   She dreamed of her late husband Tom--him no longer affected by the hyperactivity of OCD with Tics, but so solemn and controlled, saying:  "Bobby Rook moves straight--do not remove his anchor that is deep into the sublimity of God's Heavenly Harbor; regardless, love and adore him, totally knowing:  even a singular kiss from your honey stained lips is enough to keep him warm through an entire winter.  You are freedom Liberty, and make it be."
   Liberty, free enough to not really know the physician-like aspects of Christ, those Four Sacred Chambers beating for True Love, like a high school band wanting Dylan and Brenda to have FOREVER at the prom, and some people brag of their college days, yet Liberty still in the metaphorically haunting times of high school, remembering:  all the bullshit, yet adversaries so close by, and keenly yet cautiously knowing:  even though the angels are with us--this does not mean we should act as fools.  
   She prayed.  Really intensely.  And Bobby Rook snoozed away the nocturnal night, her having Spanky and his loving drool to hold onto, her unknowingly saying clearly:  "Domini canis."  Next, further into the sea of dreams, splashing her waking remembrance with super-reality as the Daystar was ignited.   

Liberty's Sparkle (83)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (83)"
   
   The night was illuminated by a waxing Moon, so near completion and full of werewolf fever; regardless, the spirit of Liberty was feeling poor, so lovely and poor, as the Larry the Cable Guys in the mobile home park and their whiskey-drinking wives invited Bobby Rook and her to a snow-falling outdoor festival of imbibing alcohol and grilling rosemary graced swine.
   Bobby Rook, new paperboy in town, like Mercury delivering a modern day Town Crier; anyway, Bobby Rook was truly adored by the Larry the Cable Guys, but a few of the wicked wives and their gazing eyes, not upon Luna's neon cheese glow of reflection, but deep into the cerebral direction of the mysteriously fragile yet strong Bobby Rook, attempting to engage his countenance; next, command its glare upon their sultry souls, too damn incarnate--their eyes painted for enchantment, and Liberty figured they looked like Drag Queens--waaaay too much makeup and bravado, spilling themselves around her best friend, encompassing him with their hope of vaginal legacy, secretly shouting at his mind:  "Put your seed into my womb that might birth the best of men, somebody severely tested by sickness, poverty, stress, and loss, yet always standing with God, never losing faith."
   And Liberty got it--they loved Bobby Rook, and so did she, because no torturous trauma in life could thieve him away from adoring the Angels and Saints, which does lead to the Almighty Themselves, that Trinity of a Godhead, so delicious and truly Divine.
   So, in front of all the ladies, Liberty grabbed Bobby Rook by his Pea Coat, pulled him in close; then, she told him to close his eyes, and laid the smooch of her life on his full blown lips, them curious, but not quivering, accepting the ignition of romance, for whatever true reason.   

Liberty's Sparkle (82)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (82)"
   
   The soft sense of humor ridden though religious man, Bobby Rook, a child of God, sat upon the futon within the mobile home, Spanky drooling loving slobber on his left; next, Liberty on his right, so gorgeously golden and without any cruel dents in her soul's illustrious essence.  And he merged these thoughts unto their inviolate synergy.
   As if picking up on the quasi-telepathy of it all, imbibing his never-to-be fantasies of high romance and wet, sloppy kisses, Liberty leaned her blonde, silky hair upon Bobby Rook's shoulder--his buzz cut immediately leaning against it, forging a united soul, a sublime synergy, and Spanky puked up a rancid pile of some microwave popcorn with sprinkle-laced cheese mixed in; as a result, now a Trinity of a situation, and the Seahawks were playing upon the pictures crafted by the black and white with rabbit ears, making an America so easy, without concussion, yet preserving the gladiators and the impoverished for who they are, and the risks we all take upon being birthed into this weird world.  

American Dogs; plus, 4th of July

   
   "American Dogs; plus, 4th of July"
   
   Some pets get nervous left outside during the freedom of fireworks still freely flaring, in some parts of town--here and there, security trumping freedom more often nowadays--sometimes this is nasty.  
   Regardless, the Wild West and wild wolves, both desiring freedom, off the leash of it all; nevertheless, restriction always arrives.
   Yankee Doodle during 1775, having impact upon the American Revolution.  And UNCLE SAM, a national avatar of the United States, generally--him lending might during the War of 1812, being many men and possibly women within the Multiversal Existence of Everything crafted by the Creator, Him allowing us the Holy Spirit of 1776, possibly.   
   Just eat some kale with your poor man's Filet mignon, which is the Rib eye; otherwise, a nice piece of beef liver and a spinach salad with blue cheese dressing containing no carrageenan. 
   Happy Independence Day!!!