Wild woman on a sofa

   
   "Wild woman on a sofa"
   
   Having been electrically ill and unwanted as I ooze the doom of weirdness, igniting always that of toxic flatulence on misery's command; specifically, I feel solace on the fresh linens that ornament my bed.  Not a place for carnal contagion, but a pre-coffin, a place to lay and pray, and maybe not die in a state of suffering for Southerners, for the American South rejects comfort by way of an opinionated government that controls medication.  Regardless, how holy is your bed?  Not to be smeared with juicy discharge from the oral and vaginal areas of a loose dame, her damning the intent of Saintly synergy as you levitate on the mattress of death.  Better to watch iZOMBIE and craft a grilled-cheese sandwich on oatmeal bread with an orange hint of turmeric to calm the chainsaws that might be perpetually cutting through your large intestine.
   Thus, a love sofa.  It having the intent of spiritual lovemake, not just allowing you to spray slippery jism over your adoration, but passing her the Spirit of love's romantic command, enslaving her to a freedom with you, mating like a wild dog's life, not gone malcontent and misfitways; plus, burning wise incense over the sofa for reasons of purification, always keeping your bed clean from nefarious spills and devilish dust bunnies, in order to engage in the super-symmetrical art of pristine prayer.

  

Spock and Eggs

    
   
   Enuff 'bout big boobies.  The exotic and intellectual ecstasy provided by the perpetual pulse of 60 Minutes, which cosmetically covered Putin and Trump, being a sublime, press-graced bomb--was da bomb.  Scott Pelley getting feedback--letters sent to the show agree that he was more of a demonic-styled prosecuting attorney than that of an empathy-driven journalist.  But who wants to be a garden-variety journalist when one can be an organic journalist, like the Lizard King of Rock 'n Roll.  Mix it up Quixotic Blues  
    And is America driven to worship the dollar?  Thieve away the religion of immigrants and transplant it with obedience to money.  It makes you happy.  It erases problems.  And yes--it does, but there is James Tiberius Kirk, him kinda/sorta say'n:  "I can't believe it--they're still using money."    Yup, back when Spock talked to humpback mammals, and time-travel was sparked by Klingon transport--all is good.
   But now, Bones does cry:  "Damn't Jim--I'm a doctor, not a transexual."   So, don't ask Mr. Physician to give a colonoscopy, and I feel guilt for linguistically forging sophomore steak and cheese biscuits.  Yet, if people don't write; next, life falls through the cracks. 

The news and Skylab

   
   "The news and Skylab"

  She didn't like Scotch.  And could never purchase an Irishman a birthday present. How to gift wrap an entire bar?  You'd need an advanced degree in architecture; plus, help from Santa's little slippery elves.  Regardless, she was sexxa.  A pulsating piece of Tang--better than the astronauts drank in the 1970's.  Whatever happened to Skylab?  She had a stamp collection.  Skylab was a major part of it; indeed, the Skylab stamp was mystical.  Eating weird astronaut ice cream and noticing the effects of gravity gone on its ass backwards.  
   He was the weather man.  It was always coming from Canada.  The cold shit.  Canadians, sitting up there, throned above our scepter of contagion, where we shoot people with guns and the roaming journalist cleans up the Sherlock pieces.  Agatha had a better detective.  Still, the chaos of a sideline flunky covering the high school football game.  Again:  Concussions.  Don't let your boys play American football soccer moms--that's what it implied.
   And just like us--the news people enjoyed the carnal act of sex.  Whatever.   

The Milky Way Brothers (25)

   
   "The Milky Way Brothers (25)"
   
   The quixotic foursome, lovingly ensnared in a rectangular lovemake of the pack, though Gloin still mortal by all means, yet Cherish would turn his werewolf mojo on, igniting it with glimmering cool, like a fanged piece of his ass out of spite--hey, he had to know she was the Alpha Female, and the missing chunk in his butt would regenerate rapidly under Full Moon's kiss of neon magic.
   
   As for Dad, he decided to move to Oregon.  Pack up his bloody stools and suffering self; next, took the Hound westwards with his retirement stuffed in his ex-wife's purse, Ben Franklin's insistence for liberty peeking out without propaganda, but the total truth of liberty.  Once anchored down up high by the Great White North, Washington the only geographical obstruction, Dad would grow and eat the edible green, reducing his anal inflammation and sense of supermundane stress; indeed, it would pass, as do all things great and bold, of the Earth.
   
   Davy and Indigo would continue on with their older siblings, being the goofy Omega wolves they were, sharing flesh and bone; plus, stealing kisses and many cuddles under the waning Moon when all was too human, and a nice visit to the Waffle House at midnight for crisp bacon and eggs that oozed a little blood, if they were lucky, blessed by the elegant gore of dead animal parts--they were werewolves after all.      

The Milky Way Brothers (24)

   
   "The Milky Way Brothers (24)"
   
Dad was hurting something like a squashed hard-boiled egg,
As if a notorious war criminal marched before the Hague;
Moreover, taking droopy downers and sleeping with dreamshit in his bed;
Plus, the infusions that cause respiratory infections and psoriasis on a circumcised head;
Indeed, his physical anxiety begged for the medicamental herb,
And Indigo, upon hearing Davy's patriarchal story was disturbed,
So she lovingly stripped to her bra, playfully shaking her mighty melons,
Her having never dated any violent felons;
Next, she insisted they'd score Earth's treatment for Davy's Dad,
All because theocratic-like politicians thieve away the prospect of people being glad--
Us herded into hell by a litigious United States,
And there be Men in Black who assassinate werewolves searching for mates;
Alas, give a dog a bone from the Earth's fertile ground
And you'll release sublimity into the good-natured hound.    
  

The Milky Way Brothers (23)

   
   "The Milky Way Brothers (23)"
   
What's the bitter gripe for the garden-variety soccer mom?
With two XANAX a day; plus, a few glasses of wine to make them dumb?
They believe life so fine--with downers everywhere,
Yet it does not cage the contagion of total despair;
Still, put your goofballs in a Popeye Pez Dispenser;
Next, pray to a hypnotic lender.
But for those united in mystic gel with the Earth--
They deserve religious liberty, like allowed herbal edibles for their mirth.
Why do the ill and shapeless get no better
After penning their senator a passionate letter?
Alas, I, Indigo
Do axiomatically know;
Regardless, werewolf tail wags for free and glee,
And the trap is a stick-in-the-mud politician, who on my freedom pushes a pee.  

The Milky Way Brothers (22)

   
   "The Milky Way Brothers (22)"
    
Cherish knowing:  Her sister shined with more passion than she;
Thus, to relieve the spite--she released an aquatic pee
In the desert lake, the water massaging with warmth so divine,
Gloin and Davy knowing:  They had lassoed werewolf girls shaved and fine;
Alas, sickly Dad weighed heavily on Gloin's beating heart,
While Davy was incredibly dense, being amused by a cheese-cutting fart,
But the only thing that sincerely mattered
Was the web of connections--a family never shattered.