Voltaic Junkyard

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard"
   
   Sheila didn't give a damn about them heavy metals, not even aluminum.  She lived in the junkyard; moreover, the junkyard, that scrap metal--lived in her, residing in her impenetrable forge of freaky.
   Sheila was jet black till a decent cascade, not quite hitting her angelic shoulders, where gristle left her female, though a man's heart did beat for justice underneath, her infertility causing this radiating she-male magic.
   Her brother Adam was the first--the genesis of a crazy family, transcending dysfunctional by being born off the grid--for the grid was in them.  Bio-hacking old school, using shamanistic trust in nature, never tempting the Four Winds, knowing even that arctic life never reflexes in relax, for there is always cold energy, which crafts a more fantastic matter.
   Adam and Sheila never got many customers.  And when they did--it meant trouble.  Or a granny with a non-spiked pumpkin pie and some archaic Purple Passion stops by for Moonlit culmination, yet since the Sun always rises--it is never over.  Energy, like God, just won't go away.