THINGS AIN’T BROKE, GOT IT BUB?
There’s a whisker of a chance that the obelisk and an all-star are a bat and bawled out-liar
Play it cool and maybe you can choke up on your grip and maybe hit a bunt-ball sacrifice
Out to center field where nobody can throw it all the way home without a hot, infinite fire
Rounding third and on the way for the slide into the home plate, err on catcher’s thin ice.
Perfect game from the hurler and a grand slam by him to boot, won the game 4 by 2 three
All you need for a perfect game is one more out, 13th strikeout of the game, hard lot of sand
Sponsored dreamers and schemers, coaches and players, even the manager and the fans see
Nobody can beat the best there ever was in the best of five, seven, nine or a hundred grand.
What do the men do who are not only human but also divine sons of a universal creator God
No evidence in the black out of Space’s Time that there’s a man left on screens of cellphones
Here and now or then and there, past, future or right this very moment, it’s but a mega-flood
Bringin’ no tears of joy to the epitaph of yo’ mama but she flipped over her urn’s dusty-bones.
Do not bring on the finale until it’s well prepared for, ready for the ending, final curtain down
Ready for the bows to the crowd, salutes of the hands clapping together, whistles and a frown
From the bottom of their hearts, they want out #ASAP like it or not, exit to stage right below
Your guess is as good as mine, conceptual analysis of things and their perpetual soul’s blow.
I know and you know what it’s like to be all alone without a care, without a friend, battle blue
Just before the challenge of trying to survive in a hostile environment, hungry to eat old you
Whether dressed or gutted, it’s the chewing of the infinitely small to the ferocious dog or cat
Ripping the muscle-meat off the bone, raw as the living thing breathing fresh air, fly to swat.
Appearances allow no errors to formulate the equation of inequality, it’s the essence of the O
I ain’t a freak but I am a mutated genome of the original 32 genes of Homo Sapiens of blow
Tons of the cocoa leaf, chopped and pulverized into the power of powder, up a mainline rose
Compared to copulation of moments, causing animated conception, we’re light a heavy dose.
Down under or downtown MAGAlopolis, the water drains just like the Earth’s wobbling spin
Pink sky punked the blue, all of them just obscured deep, black space where mortals lips sing
Spin in a prison cell with no view, just light and air to enter for sustenance, midnight’s origin
In the corner because an ogre pointed the way and ordered the action, soon to be a blue king.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. September 24th, 2019 A.D. @ 8:53 PM E.S.T.
{ drafted while listenin’ to #BluesCousins #TheDream link @ https://youtu.be/3ctQiIPE2IA & https://youtu.be/HRJGVbMtzBQ now, #OpenTheDoor }
W.W.A.R.D.?
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