POINTS, LINES, ANGLES & FORMS *
--------------------------------------------
In or out of the redwood forest, you move until you cannot move any longer, you want to be
Never want ‘not to be’ and it will never be the question unless I turn up a terminal, trust me
No reason to fabricate the truth since it’s unbelievable just alone, by itself without a doubt
Planet alive, grown from scratch, moving to the mulch, appearance of my love, my heart.
Pertaining to the monsoon of my tears crying because I’ve been forsaken, mama blessed to be
Happiness a final goal but only captured a moment at a time, never more than a day for free
Even if you pay the piper and do what pied pipers require, undisclosed bundles, all fake news
Out on a freeway, turnpike or expressway from six to six, huffin’ ‘til hell’s bells ring the blues.
Pumpin’ up the queens and princes who become the sons of the inbred blue, leukemic blood
Sons of divinity and daughters of higher powers than the gods who live higher than Olympus
Maybe the things we call UFO in our mind our out of our mind, those things are in the hood
Our neighbors and friends and relatives all lose you and I to the groove in chumps’ soul dust.
Alive and movin’ on the stage until my breath comes in and out way too slow, drop the pedal
I am gonna go, ridin’ on the freeway in a pink or a white Cadillac, like it or not Chip and Dale
Pedal down to metal down the on ramp into the flow, signaling lane by lane, diamond’s bait
Groovin’ in the traffic in and out for the target is your heart baby, can’t wait to get to the gate.
Awakened at the beginning of the middle near the end of the whole shebang, slammin’ brakes
Stoppin’ on a dime and watchin’ the guy behind me NOT STOP & smash into my trunk, klunk
All in a New York Minute, spinnin’ Earth of sixty odd years finished in a whimper, I waked up
Laid out they called the body without the soul, without the higher spirit, Adam and Eve fakes.
Groovin’ around the center of the emptiness where the fullness becomes the used, refused
In and out of a holy vacuum, worms weave their way in and out of yesterday’s dirt, yet today
Pinpointed and isolated from the well adjusted, the maladjusted like you and I, drift far away
Touching bases with you, sliding safely into home, we end the game singin’ red wino blues.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Monday, January 14, 2019 A.D. @ 3:33 PM PST * header photo is my wife in the redwoods
{ drafted while jammin’ to HITS of my choice includin’ this little ditty from Everlast #WhatItsLike... on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/8gZEox8Crwc }
----------------------------
W.W.A.R.D.?
No comments:
Post a Comment
YOUR 2 cents...if you don't mind? ;-)