Saturday, May 16, 2015

Drugstore Makeup Junkie

   
   "Drugstore Makeup Junkie"
   
Alas, my son cooked to life by incubation;
Next, a patriarch locked in controlling stipulation;
Indeed, should have let him play Canadian ball,
For I'm ornamented in glitter, gloss, and coverage purchased at the mall--
Things don't work--it takes "2",
But never is "3" the number for marriage's glue.
Don't worry; so many get an honorable clue,
Battling the big fish, fighting for their old man's due.  
   

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Jazzmin Flush (61)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (61)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush gushed with laughter and glee as she seemed to perpetually shoot the shit (oops) with Mister Merlin Pope; indeed, he was an eternal springtime of enlightening change, moving in a totally non-linear fashion as he offered the torrid and peaceful topics concerning his life; however, she was not infatuated with the ant-circuitry shutdowns he had ruthlessly performed as an Android Hunter.  The sentient machines had American Rights; moreover, they need to download more conscience, but it was their right to be as scandalous as an Andy Warhol movie actress if preferred.  
   Jazzmin got up to give whiz within the commode abode.  And Merlin's eyes hungrily followed her California lean dexterity as she seemed to dangerously dance across the floor in her desert boots; next, she heard Thomas cut in:  "Watch it Jazzmin--Mr. Pope has a conscience, but he will resort to any type of adventure, proudly making himself longer in the tooth.  This dude loves danger."

Supergirl and CFL

   
   "Supergirl and CFL"  

Ismail, Flutie, Moon--many others too,
Bootlegging (kinda) while encompassed by the pigskin cult zoo
Of glacial-visited tundra galore,
And few Americans are keeping score;
Regardless, what else to watch in the summer,
Yet Baseball is not a sincere bummer.  


Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Jazzmin Flush (60)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (60)" 

   Jazzmin Flush and Merlin Pope became engrossed in the non-fiction of their bizarre lives--Jazzmin confessing her unborn daughter, weeping with great regret, and Merlin offering up his inability to gel and merrily mesh with fine women.
   
MERLIN
A bit androgynous, not as tall or hairy as Magnum P.I. either; thus, I will never be a big hunk of a man as might a snobby landlord announce; regardless, contacted a guy on the holo-vid, I just want communication.  Moreover, to be properly steered in the arms of an adoring 40ish lady that won't compete with me.  A traditional relationship, man and woman playing love.  But all I get is stabbed in the back, and I do stupid things, not physically, but with communication.  There's a nice lady who serves the dumplings and noodles at CHINA MING.
   
JAZZMIN
Why do we all have problems?  So, you feel guilty and were going to punish or off yourself?

MERLIN
Why not?  Who am I?

JAZZMIN
You are a cool guy Mr. Pope.  I know this coydog named Rascal, and she's nothing but a pill.  Crap, she's probably proud of being raunchy, when she decides to be raunchy that is--and it's plenty of the time.  Look, just embrace your passions, don't spill your guts about love with anybody--reserve it for where your treasure chest is; next, where your treasure is, so is your heart also.  And don't wimp out on me.  I think you and my Dad would be good friends.  The two of you could pick up some ladies, or whatever it is old men do.  I dunno.
  
MERLIN
I'll lift my head then Jazzmin.  And as for your friend Rascal--you never know with a coydog--they're the weirdest.
   

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Union Blue--introspection and a wackadoodle

   
   "Union Blue--introspection and a wackadoodle"  
   
   Step-Daddy, Carolina forged, when things are labor-oriented--he declares with swift, militaristic plan to sweep the debris:  "Boy--we gotta grease this goose."  Or perhaps dandy days with NASCAR and Bud Heavy flowing:  "Boy--we're in high cotton."  Regardless, absorbing everything Southwards as commands heavy empathy, what to do but gleefully vent with dynamic ditty, remembering:  babe crowned in a symmetrical explosion of girly curls, and tough.  Here goes:
   
Woman--you just so girly curl fine--
Punch me in the throat if I get out of line!

You got scald; you got grit--
I'm all about your life-giving tit--
I ain't uncouth in vulgar way;
I just know what I want, and I want what I say--
So thank your stars I hung the moon;
The coyotes are calling for a waxing boon.

Woman--you just so girly curl fine--
Punch me in the throat if I get out of line!  

Monday, May 11, 2015

Jazzmin Flush (59)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (59)"
   
   With fervor for California comfort food in the furious future, Jazzmin Flush ordered "in" some fish and chips, ornamented with softly mild salsa and crowned with sea salt and cracked pepper gelling atop fresh parsley.  She had the matriarchal mojo to feed Mr. Merlin Pope.  All the dandy dudes she knew were so darn slender, and she sweetly hoped that her severely muscular legs weren't intimidating these meagerly yet macho men she hung out with--them all illuminated by some sort of spirit.  So, the food arrived, and it was hot.  Jazzmin sat on a somewhat clean floor, hardwood, while Merlin remained gimpy in his misplaced chaise lounge.
  
MERLIN
This is nice--my sweet Jazzmin.
  
JAZZMIN
Thanks Mr. Pope--I used to work on a taco truck, and food can be inexpensive yet healthy.  Salsa is fortified with lycopene, and parsley, besides being the king of garnish desires decent digestion; moreover, fish is swimming in Omega oils, and the chips--well, some say that they might increase bodily inflammation, but they were cooked in olive oil and onion powder, if that matters.  I read all my food labels.
  
MERLIN
Jazzmin Flush--you intrigue me.  I know that I'm an asymmetrical creature; nevertheless--I must ask:  "Are you seeing anybody?"
  
JAZZMIN
Buster--yup.  And he's totally a big, bad wolf.  Actually no--he's really nice, like white cotton candy with teeth.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Union Blue--a very personal, underground song

   
   "Union Blue--a very personal, underground song"   
   
   Mercury delivery--me--not a garden-variety mortal, yet an organic form of man, John Barleycorning my nightshade after laboring at the local newspaper, regally rising from a pimple-faced paperboy to a merciful manager with a shaggy goatee and creeping out all the pseudo-ladies.   Anyway, my Country Boss told me:  "Boy--there ain't nothing better than walking barefoot on a plantation of naked titties."  Ahem--here's the ditty--total writing time:  1 minute and 39 seconds.
   
Slinging papers under crescent moon glow,
Down in the South sending insight to the crow;
I came across a coyote laying dead on the road,
Took a look'n at his spirit and my shy did erode--
Talking to the ladies with couth in my glass--
No greedy hand-grabbing but glances at the ass--
Adore the pubs and every domestic bar
That tolerates with love my Yankee bizarre.