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 . . .