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INSIDE OUT OF THE VORTEX

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, March 16, 2019

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Utter hopelessness and your godmothers and fathers is the catfish hole, a noble holler

Wherein these words enter your cranial cavity and your mind wraps around the star

Horsewhipping’ comin’ down the pike to a neighborhood near your city-country trysts

If and only if you are an idiot, a moron or a nutcase then you will take offense at this.

On the way back to the barracks from the doctor and dentist I fell in love with signals

Stop, slow and go at corners or for jaywalkin’ stone-agers, ate a savior’s human genitals

Without iced cream, our world doesn’t rock n’ roll around the sun’s ecliptic, killed dead

Death is already gone and you might not like it, this eternal immortal being is voided.

Revolving and repeating, automatic and systematic, a function of the calculus instead

To be or not to be in this material world of rock and dirty star debris, gods’ dams dead

Dreaming on Saturday night, I thought it was real but then I awoke with a foot cramp

Rolled out of the rack, rested in the room, hit the streets and boulevards, lick a stamp.

Steeped in the vat of gas you breathe in and out, it’s a prank call to your mama’s kids

They know you when they see you but they have no idea where you’re at, row of skids

Off of the corners, in the gangways where angels fear to go, boys use foul, pig squeals

Complete smokin’ of #MrPickles, hunger and thirst aside, waving yeller banana peels.

Burned, buried, lost at sea or inside a volcanic eruption of the planet’s hot, rock soup

Around in circles or from point A to the infinite point at an end of a right angle’s line

Consumer of the Word, there you are you liar, call me and I’ll put your foot in a stirrup

Stepped in it more than once, smellin’ like the putrid smoke of refused matter, mine.

Naked but still alive and hungry for the food to continue the trip around the One down

Second, third and fourth down’s notwithstanding, it’s a perfect game, a shut-out clown

Mothers and fathers of the malformed, maladjusted homo sapiens, rest in empty peace

Where there’s no sights or sounds, feelings or smells, Vortex sucks, God’s highest priest.

by

r j j stephan, i ....if the mountains tumble into the sea, bada bing bada boom, that’s all!

c. Saturday March 16, 2019 A.D. @ 7:11 AM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to TheDrifters #StandByMe & #HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/YaqjpfZJjpk }

W.W.A.R.D.?