#ConditionOfTradition #DeepStateGhetto #HereAndNowForever #EverythingsGonnaBeAlrightNow #EverythingIsEverything - @DonnyHathaway

-----INTOtheGHETTO-----

ROADRUNNER RUDE, BROTHER!

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Monday, September 30, 2019

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Unicorns can kick it with bells of the tacos, funked up, ripped off, bop the boom, badabing

Dreaming that I’m sleeping in bed or somewhere I shouldn’t be but I’m wide awake, I’m woke

But it doesn’t matter much to the powers that be in me, tiny DNA commands of danmed fool

Where the Cancer of cells and the consciousness elevation to the humanistic design, it’s cool.

Went to a prom in a rambler with a double dated Corvair, engine in the back, stinkin’ vapes

For the sake of Alabama and Washington the states, I moved the sweet homes, dyin’ of flues

Sick and tired of alphas’ omegas in a gambling vipers’ magic paradise, down with The Blues

Of the mice, women and men who struggle in the grooves, deep needle scratches and scrapes.

Preventative perfection for Ma and Pa as the universe exploded into silence, holy hell’s bells

In an empty Void where all of the animated things move and die behind wheels, death metals

Iron and steel, plastic and chrome to make the world spin and wobble it’s way around a God

Blazing ball of gas in a full-out burn, throttled with the pedal to the metal, green Ford hotrod.

Unicorns can kick it with bells of the tacos, funked up, ripped off, bop the boom, yo badabing

Wise guys and wise men with nothing but Air in common, nobody’s ever guilty in #SingSing

Ran all the turnpikes the roads when I had two, four or eighteen wheels, long roads uptown

Early or late, sunshine, moonshine, living a life I love, it’s the only one, round-ball unknown.

A boy or girl, learns to read words and music of the heavenly stars, burned gas, cosmic crock

In a pot or in the back of an infinite mind that nobody can ever depend on, TNT on the block

Firecracker and a cracker both cause the noise to shock the Zulu into the Zen thing mortal sin

As you were before your conception, without attention or rest, at ease in a pie-easy reflection.

In the arpeggios and chords of the wild eyed, bushy-tailed cream of crops, creme de la cremes

Before or after your last gasp moves in and out of your saddle bag, The Dark’s all crystal clear

Nothing seen here nor there, nowhere is this thing itself called you and me gonna be, it seems

Heaven, clouds, outerspace, empty Space of the mighty face of Nothing at all, it’s #FakeFear.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 30th, 2019 A.D. Monday @ 8:08 AM PST

{ drafted jammin’ to Junior Walker & The All-Stars #ImARoadrunner on youTube #ShotGun & SOUL-HITS link @ https://youtu.be/FI7CtxlisCk }

W.W.A.R.D.?