That dude can taste colors

   
   "That dude can taste colors"
   
Fabricating and freakishly forging, all over and within him, a flowery design,
Not to be adorned like a lady or a mime,
Yet to imbibe the energy into his quicker-working salivary gland,
Healing his wilted and withered frame, taking a brilliant-hued stand;
Indeed, this is a type of sparkly meditation,
Used in many a metaphysical nation,
Like in the States, where the underground does read urban fantasy,
Returning to a time when pissing in the potted plants after a sixer equals suburban free.  

Liberty's Sparkle (23)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (23)"
   
   Faye drove her jeep, afforded by a waitress job at a local eatery, where coffee was poured with quicksilver, eggs were fried with swift intention, but the talk was clean and offered a bit of dandy-like things, making her feel a bit proud for holding down a decent job, all things considered.
   Anyway, she had fought an eternal battle, it seemed, over the last 24 hours within her pierced yet somewhat smart brain, concluding that Liberty needed no more negative energy, and that she (Faye) would always be a pal of sorts, though knowing plenty of Liberty's time would seem stolen by the weird presence of Tom.  In the big scheme--who gives a crap, she thought.  It was just nice to have Liberty as a friend, for the golden girl oozed forth regularity and calm, something Faye was drawn to, though pierced and tattooed beyond normality herself.
   So, pulling her jeep up in front of Tom's mobile home, seeing the twosome (Liberty and Tom) sitting on chaise lounges and socializing, Faye did not emanate with envy; on the contrary, with total cool she exited her vehicle, making a swift saunter towards her friends, and started shooting the shit.  
   Yes, yes, yes--all three of them were FRIENDS, now and forever.  

Adolescents and Old People

   
   "Adolescents and Old People"
   
   Went to McDonald's to get my elderly mother some fries; specifically, large fries; plus, myself--a Big Mac, was having the weremeat attack--you guys know what I'm say'n.  
   Anyway, teenage girls in front of me, wanting a specially forged beverage--some type of coffee with a certain number of ice cubes in in to match their numerology beliefs, and I have reverence for those that dabble in benign metaphysical things.
   Regardless, the stress of the wait on my withered yet wily frame, now in its mid-40's, well it was all I could do to stand, wanting to mercurially rush through things and quickly bring my mother back some carbs for weight gain.
   Next, a shitload of kids came in, getting in my space, but dubbed me "Sir" and that was really cute and all, but the generational differences really freak me.  The loudness.  The bravado of eternal forever, like Peter Pan happening in your aging and leathery face, but some artists appreciate the lines.
   I dunno.  Just want to read the newspaper, watch the local news, and get lost in the silence of growing towards the grave.  How morbid and macabre?  Nah, I'm a realist, but crazy enough to still believe in God.   

Liberty's Sparkle (22)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (22)"
   
   "Canis lycaon, or Eastern wolf.  That can even mean a black wolf.  Or just Canis lupus, spotted around here on the lower peninsula and all."  Tom, talking about the wildlife books he'd checked out at the library.
   Liberty was all casual and girly, yet sophisticated, saying:  "I like to own the books I read.  Plenty of science fiction, but nowadays it's all morphing into urban fantasy--and there are wolf stories.  The werewolf always depicted as a Class A type of dude or chick, being aggressive, liking to mix it up with fangs or fisticuffs; plus, plenty of spicy beef jerky."
   Tom retorted, and for no good reason, just to explain:  "I know, I know.  But all that is so beastly and untrue.  The wolf represents friendship and loyalty.  Yes, there is a bit of suspicion, but it is a noble beast--look at Spanky, that terrier descends from the wolf, and he's a real buddy."
   Liberty liked Tom, plenty.  She sipped sweetly on her Bud Light Lime, outta the can, watching Tom smoke a cigarette and jingle the crushed ice in his Diet Sprite; next, he got up, walked underneath the shimmering moonlight, pulled a bag of pretzels out of a gas station bought cooler, opened them up with a swift tear, took one out and bit into its crunchy essence, saying:  "These are good.  I'm gonna try the chocolate ones next."
   Liberty giggled at the normality of it all.  Just two people, getting along, and finely so.   

No gods next to God?

   
   "No gods next to God?"
    
   And in reflective reverie, before the destructive disaster and sanctimonious stress causing the destabilization of the Middle East, it was Sir Mark Sykes and an intellectual probe into the eternal desert mystery, like in Herbert's DUNE--I was down with H.G. Wells and THE OUTLINE OF HISTORY.
   Now:  fear; specifically, a variety of phobic-like conditions; plus, hate.
   The bountiful beauty of the Apostle and Holy Spirit merging, having super-symmetrical synergy, that Christ offering Willpower and a belief in heavenly healing--no longer.
   "The Industrial Revolution crafts Satanic slave mills that rob men of their imagination."  William Blake responsible for that, possibly.
   Aquinas knew not the modern aspects of string theory; nevertheless, it all was fathomed by the fabulous mind of man, a god himself; moreover, Aquinas wended beyond the Age of Information (Today), going deep into the darkness of metaphysics, and even Lycanthropy, knowing a soul can suffer odd transformation by way of Angels, and possibly Saints.
   Again, Johnny Carson would vociferously chuckle:  "Weird and wild stuff."   

Public bathrooms in America; plus, caca

   
   "Public bathrooms in America; plus, caca"
   
   It kinda means excrement or fecal matter--caca does; regardless, this is not easy to hold in with certain inflammation haunting the intestinal tract.  
   Doc says:  "Dude--it's easy to use public bathrooms in grocery stores; they're usually pretty clean; as I result, I mustered the macho of of Han Solo, taking my hand antiseptic inside, as if an unholstered blaster capable of lighting  up evil Greedo with the laser beam of a futuristic Dim Mak.  
   Anyway, I've bolted from many a bathroom, due to rude janitors, the cruel caca on the toilet seat, and other scatological phenomena--yuck man.
   Janitors should be paid and respected; moreover, armed with uncanny OCD into order to scrub public facilities to glimmering perfection; next, Bernie needs to give them a pay raise, and plenty of other things need to happen, like the cheesy Spider-Man show in the 1970's having a radical revolution, just for the funk of all that jazz type music and web-slinging going on.   

Razorback Football And Mass

   
   "Razorback Football And Mass"
  
You don't know what to do, boy?
You're in Little Rock, at War Memorial Stadium, watching the Hogs, so coy
In the rosemary roasted sense that they have allure, so modest and sure.
A boring State is Arkansas?  Are you too darn pure
To rally for the Razorbacks and not be hated by other fans adoring the SEC?
Indeed, you get a pass for being impoverished and sprinting with tusks so free;
Alas, hang not your weary heads weak and low,
For you, Razorback fans, have given a brave overthrow
Of many teams with more jingle in their pocket and glorious gleam;
Specifically, the mystical pig never runs out of charging steam--
And ya gotta call them Hogs with quasi-religious ceremony,
Like being at Catholic Mass, knowing the Eucharist ain't bologna.