Trump: Possibly, Islam Hates Us

   
   "Trump:  Possibly, Islam Hates Us"
   
   Not ambiguous a bit, in my opinion were Trump's words to Anderson Cooper; specifically, the devil is in the details, and axioms reside within the cerebral capacity of billionaires, sometimes.
   The Arch-Angel Gabriel teaching an amateur poet to read and write, giving the gift of the Koran, which basically informs:  "Life is over in the blink of an eye."  What Arch-Angelic linguistic wisdom.
   And it further instructs to keep your eye on the prize, that God knows every thought and glimpse into sin within every individual soul.  Christ, teaches the LORD'S PRAYER, giving reverie of His Father, claiming boldly and verbally that God already knows what you think; thus, say These Words.
   And even Christianity deplores America on some level.  The Internet porn, images harder to get rid of, more so than narcotic dependence, which can be flushed from the corporeal system.
   But Christians will not pick up the sword, yet supposedly, one bad ass mystic/visionary named William Blake, a mere tradesman to Fraiser Crane, knew Christ's Words:  "I came not to bring peace, but a sword."
   There is only that America should be apple pie again.  A Protestant Nation not further splintering, and a Catholic and Orthodox remembrance of the theological antiquities, beyond Donatello's "Black David" and all that well-sculpted jazz, constructing THE ART OF LOVE.  
   Damn, I sound like a freak'n hippie.    

Golden Girls -- Gonna Stuff a Chicken

Canadian Coyote

   
   "Canadian Coyote"
    
Canis Latrans--sure can into the beyond see,
All with afterlife orbs bizarre, a shape-shifting, Great White North made free;
Specifically, uniting the ill-fated,
And the many wolves with coyotes mated;
Thus, wends the better brain of the canine,
Offering a barking, playful lovemake--so telepathic, cerebral, and gelling with Effulgent Shine--
So get your inner coyote, if you dare a trick--get him honestly running,
Pouncing on rascally rodents; plus, knowing how to be cool and cunning,
Eating that floppy, marine-life Omega 3-filled fin
Of glacial sardines saluting--like Catholics on ancient Fridays skipping sin,
Going omnivorous instead of total carnivore,
Knowing even in "The City Of Angels" can toxic waste make a symmetrical scat score--
Never saw First Nations with so much unearthly might
Than the Totem-building shamans, architecting North American Light.  

Staying friends with ex-spouse

   
   "Staying friends with ex-spouse"
    
   Does Trump love the multiple ex?  I disavow any wisdom concerning the matter, for I am in misuse, morphing words into grammatical errors, making Kerouac proud that he fostered, and like a Buddha-styled, Catholic Saint lived with his Mom, and drank himself into euphoria, having a corporeal culmination met with completion of long-draft, a stream of consciousness lovemake.
   But no need to fight with ex.  Sure, a bit of animal-like animosity at ignition; next, a soft solace, marching towards the Platinum Dove, that Good Ghost, knowing God can insert a superior spiritual intellect into your life, and your ex in high heels, stumbling on park rocks with Camel cigarettes perpetually puffed--she is an adorable thing.  Not an emaciated, violated mutant of your mindmake, but a soul prayed for, knowing the adversary in Nordic Polytheism requires comedy.
   Moreover, this is a Universal Church thing.  A commitment to long-suffering and carnal misery--it's called marriage.  And the beauty is the Everlast--that Divine Endurance to say your "Act of Contrition" and Blast Off To God upon preparation for burial.
   So, yes, my ex cracks me up, and I worry about her carnal comedy; nevertheless, the only person you can control in life is yourself, and we are all, sometimes, a weird story written by the Hand of God.   

Emergency Room told me: "Eat a pickle."

   
   "Emergency Room told me:  "Eat a pickle."
    
   Years before, dandy dentist said:  "No need to worry about it."
   Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Oral Surgeons and Dentists, totally.  Next, big lump in my throat, speeding like a mercurial madman in a mini-van, one of 'em toaster vans, thinking my breathing would be cut off.  Then, Emergency Room Doc says:  "Eat a pickle."  They sent me home.
   It happened--removal of saliva duct stone.  An Internal Medicine Physician I've known for years, him fully aware I have OCD, immediately sent me to an Oral Surgeon.  It was a showdown in my oral cavity's corral.  Was Doc Holliday there?  I needed some whiskey.  Shot of Lidocaine-like substance; next, Doc and Nurse went in with sharp tools, glistening with soon-to-be gore.  
   I was just looking at the ceiling, trying not to make eye contact.  Doc was telling Nurse about his vacation.  Took about twenty minutes--he was having trouble getting a grip; then--he got it!!! 
   Dropped it in a little, metallic bowel the Nurse was cupping underneath her hands, as if holding the Blood of Christ--she did it with theological, not surgical precision.  It made a little "ding" sound.  

Post Script:  God Bless Nancy Reagan, and--for believing in things beyond.  There is Truth.     

Saint Lucy's Healing Power

   
   "Saint Lucy's Healing Power"
   
Saint Lucy consecrated her virginity to the Almighty God;
As a result, her mother healed by a Divine Nod;
At any rate, refused marriage to a polytheistic pagan;
Next, endured eye-gouging, which proved the axiom of a cruel nation;
Regardless, eyes restored upon preparation for holy burial,
And during November in 1981, her mummified skeleton stolen--so weirdly terrible.  

Epididymitis--Boy!

    
   "Epididymitis--Boy!"
   
Epididymitis, let me basically tell ya boy:
"Outlawed Elephantiasis of the scrotal sac Mr. Rob Roy."
Indeed, like mercurially hit tennis balls in the abdomen punching,
Making you hate the corporeal cruel of exercise-styled running;
Hence, as if Kerouac, you must get on the road to the physician, thumbing,
Not eating the naked lunch of Burroughs, which to the strait-laced is mind-numbing.