Plotinus may pantheistic-like ponder: "The Simpler something is; next, the closer it is to God."
WEREWOLF SLUT, my original TITLE and poem, hijacked by many creatively, though I offer them adoration and love--is a teenage tale concerning Winter Beachgrove, a smok'n hot, adolescent babe blessed with buxom divine, morphing wolf-ways. Only a pre-pubescent poet dubbed Jelly Roll (he appears in most of my poetic novellas) can save her by way of invoking the trans-corporeal presence of God's Enforcer, the Arch-Angel, Saint Michael. A simple, simple, holy poem. Available on Apple iTunes, the Nook, or Amazon.com--here's a link to my Amazon page: WEREWOLF SLUT and King's Books!
I gotta few pics of my stylish countenance back in the Reagan years, sporting a Blue-Black Mane of hair, much to my mother's disapproval; plus, some more modern shots of me, now 41 years of age. So, totally, check out WEREWOLF SLUT. Before they were selling t-shirts or doing romance literature or Blogging themselves this title, I was mystically penning this prose-laced piece, my cerebral capacity diminished, though made elegantly effulgent, by way of King David's Psalm concerning herb in the KJV. Check it out:
