Existence Womb (47)

   
   "Existence Womb (47)"
    
   Dr. Luke had the appropriate surgical instruments, and some Moosehead lager; plus, could insert an injection of Lidocaine; moreover, Miriam let her melt-away herb-derived medicine do its best job--kill the pain, but she was fully conscious--in a Jim Morrison sense.  
   So, Luke began to delicately explore with scalpel's dance, not thinking a heavy Mastoid-type of surgery would be needed, or that the most likely extraterrestrial metal would be down-right detectable by anyone save alien/spook physicians; regardless, he found an object, nothing more than a millimeter in size, a thin, fishing line type of metallic substance, something akin to control or monitor--alien/spooks being bold on Biotelemetry; indeed, Miriam was marked by a bad beast of several sorts, and Luke surmised implanting a microscopic portion of Tungsten, which weighs more than lead, being as hard as Wolverine's skeletal system, resisting radiation of all sorts such as gamma rays--basically blocks with its harder than diamond structure, repelling even extraterrestrial varieties, having metaphysical might and mystical mojo.
   Miriam sipped on the cold lager through a mercurial imbibe of a pain-relieving straw, it was bendable and had colorful stripes--she burped a girlish giggle, Buck frowned weirdly as the observer, thinking this girl was becoming nuts; next, realizing, more importantly, she was learning to fight in her own way, like Joan of Arc, maybe not a Dark Night Doctor like Saint John of the Cross, but a corporeal warrior realizing she could wave and swing a blade adorned with five crosses and not prone to rust, the Queen of Swords, a Tarot thing; anyway, that weapon, like forged by French blacksmiths during the blood-spill of more ancient times, when a crazed yet mystical girl became something like unto a lambent flame and forever eternal.     

Existence Womb (46)

   
   "Existence Womb (46)"
    
   Miriam gleefully glided in Vermont-like snowshoes till untied inside, the sporty antiquity of Air-Eskimo.  She engaged in eager embrace of both Dad and Buck, making darn sure to give Buck's clean and lean arms an extra passion:  "I dig you baby--this is why I'm squeezing."
    
BUCK
You're the best Miriam.  Your Dad and me--we're going to protect you--praecaveo.
   
MIRIAM
You're so weird, silly, with that Latin and all.
   
LUKE
With regret in his physician's orbs.  Miriam, I must, with surgical compulsion, extract the implant behind your ear.  It might terrify and be traumatic, a bit of magnetic-like hatred of separated forces, as many-a-Gnostic cried when cutting carrots that they knew shrieked in veggie speech, or something; regardless, it must be done to protect and shield you from technological monitoring or even the possibility of terrorist TURN ON.
   
MIRIAM
Why so spooky guys?  Do this to me--now!!!

Existence Womb (45)

   
   "Existence Womb (45)"
      
Merrymaking Miriam made snow angels upon the snowy turf--so powder white,
Wishing she could morph angelic and ascend--given corporeal wings for seraphic flight;
Meanwhile, Buck and Luke observed through a foggy window, them deep into Moosehead beer--
Feeling nothing ominous or odd was Buck's telepathy--Luke's mind free of weird or queer;
Regardless, the Catholic Werewolf Monk did telepathically absorb that Luke wanted control,
As if the good doctor wanted to dominate what his daughter had been taxed with by reptilian toll;
Alas, he was her biological father and had smoothly positioned her into a frozen prairie of safety,
And didn't give her a hoydenish name like Lucy Lacy;
Still, Buck desired to be fully inserted though he was fanged divine,
Knowing:  Miriam was through with a mostly paralyzed life; plus, so young, vibrant, and fine.   

Existence Womb (44)

   
   "Existence Womb (44)"
     
   The threesome, on the outskirts of bucolic Calgary, cozy comfort blazing with the southern element of fire burning brightly, that secret heat of healing blue hidden within the fiery flames of what might be called "devil colors" and all; regardless, it warmed them.
   Miriam and Buck in thick-knitted socks and new attire.  Back in The Last Great Place, Montana--they stopped at Walmart, and for under 100 Benjamin Pics, were able to afford economical armor for the arctic-like conditions, many a time really, for Calgary, a region that was like a frozen-like, fertile steppe, the grasslands always brewing, and all of them, with honey drizzle atop their icy mugs of Moosehead, being American yet entertaining new Canadian ideas concerning their whereabouts.  Yes Miriam was underage, but they did christen her with John Barleycorn re-birthed.   
   And while they did get a fantastic bargain on their clothing--if pants, shirts, and coats were made in China; next, maybe a thoracic or genital mutation after years or days of wear, whatever.  "Made in China" does not always mean BullShit, for to go to War with them, in another World Conflict--this would make ISIL appear nothing more than a haunting specter, able to hurt, but not the modern catastrophe of it all burning with a nuclear wheeze, not a whimper.    

Existence Womb (43)

    
   "Existence Womb (43)"
    
Past the drama with Divine Dexterities--who needs the conversational hiccup of drama?
Miriam ran through the ankle-deep snow to lovingly embrace her Dad in his portion of pajama.
No--she no longer possessed the corporeal aspects of mamma kin,
Yet was elegantly allowed the bizarre sin that is matrimonial sex, like angels dancing on a pin--
Are kids not born into sin--some into a reptilian hex?
Is it not for most:  A mess does get cheap sex?   
But now in Canada and documents to prove,
Though the Boss 302 needed chains during the Alberta groove;
However, rear end torque coming out of the hole,
Could push that Beast to the North Pole,
And things like Santa were so alive to mirth-dreaming Miriam,
For to have a father so professional; plus, without a bit of carnal delirium.    

Existence Womb (42)

   
   "Existence Womb (42)"
    
   Merry Miriam and second-guessing Buck, along with all their metaphysical weaponry and archaic, theological texts, were loaded in the fully restored Boss 302, from the sexually-seeming, very late Sixties--the twosome merged with the angry automobile, rambled, sometimes eloquently, rolling balanced down the beauty of an asphalt ballet, dirty dancing with moments of terrifying guy-power--low-end torque I'm talking; next, hands-on-the-wheel steady, like Werewolf cruise control.
   A mysterious clad man, such as G. Gordon Liddy working for the Nixon Alien Division back in his day, when Jackie Gleason saw the bodies of dead angels after a golfing game with the neurotic Nixon; anyway, the man, a delirious display of spookishness, was overheard by Miriam, saying to Buck:  "Your Canadian documents are all there.  Too, everything electronic is kosher."
   And Miriam thought--maybe a Jewish Vampire.  Nah, werewolves didn't mix with morphine-driven (the yummy blood-lust) of multi-fanged murderers; regardless, she had her interrogative probes fireworking off in her sonic, youthful mind; nevertheless, she just held onto Buck as he worked the manual transmission, hugging harder with every shift of Classic Muscle Car.    

Existence Womb (41)

   
   "Existence Womb (41)"   
   
Under scrotal anguish, Buck pondered:  "How can heretical hooligans call Catholics Legalists?"
When Baby Messiah with pneumatic-pocket fold fits into Ricky Bobby's Ballad of Jesus?
Regardless, Buck had Honored and Revered with a Willed pommel-gripping fist,
Finding not Divine Nature, but the might of a Blessed Virgin's right to appear in sacred mist;
Plus, used fangs (Buck did) and the wolf hide of a God-Protected fury,
Always with ascetic-styled prayer--never in a Hermes-Driven hurry, 
But knew Ubiquitous Truth rested not in a creation hijacked by a seeming angel or brother,
Yet to have the Ear of God as does Christ's Inviolate Mother--
Rambling--V-8, gallop gallantly Sir Buck, have no Malus animus he Totally knew,
Yet with Miriam's breasts like symmetrical melons and his centuries of a vow--this was blue--
A bad shade, not the healing hue,
Of the entire Holy Spirit, before the Rainbow was sexualized and the World had a clue--
But no man needs my indignation,
And Buck believed in the potency of every undocumented human species in every Nation.