COUNTRY QUEENS & HILLBILLIES
Setting with the sun that never, ever moves without me in the middle of the scrum’s scenes
Knowing that it will come again when we spin around in the circle of lowdown moon beams
Pertaining to the nature of the screaming Smiths and Jones, there’s a bitten apple core, it rots
Right down by the grounded roots underneath the star-dusted dirt, it’s always the GD robots.
Moving the DNA and the RNA like there’s no tomorrow, whipped up into a chaotic perpetuity
Princesses and kings move between the queens who keep the real 64 squares in a naked city
Dreams of the sleeping canivers and cadaverous shills of the days and nights, evolved wobble
Orbital orientation to the other rocks that roll around in stellar control, dig it, spade & shovel.
Mercury to the outer path of electron-like Pluto, outside geek gods Saturn & Uranus’ Neptune
To reboot your flash drive and download your two hundred eight bones into a funky raccoon
No need for a disguise because nobody can see the nocturnal vermin, I think I’m a One, done
For the sake of the genome’s survival in a finite environment, DNA copies species’ extinction.
It must be true if it cannot be false, there’re only two ways of thought in a vacuum, Hell bells
To be or not, to survive via consuming matter or to become lifeless, stone dead skin and bone
Air of the gas mix, nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen, helium, atomic molecular structure, well done
Mortality’s inductive deduction of logic’s reason, lost forever, out of gas, black hole of angels!
Born down the road apiece from The Lake, the southwest side of the pond, the greatest One
By the second city next to the Big Apple back in the day, now turned into just another godson
Of the fathers who founded the place of Bad Smells, it is what it is, dead fish for me and yous
It happens when fresh water’s poisoned by the penmen and pretty women, singin’ holy blues.
I could be goin’ down lower than the center of this Earth but ain’t nothing t’all to it, empty set
There’s nothing worse than rolling stones with nowhere to place the rocks but at Hades’ gate
For the infinite twists and shouts of the myriad of communistos in a plethora of bums’ regret
She’s from Georgia or Alabama or that Florida peninsula, maybe a Mississippi hippy, my fate.
Shakin’ and bakin’ in boots I wear every day from dusk ‘til dawn, dippin’ toes in a dead pool
Because I can and I always will be able to breathe in and out of my skinbag of hot flesh, cool
Fortified country queens of the barn dance and the dubious hillbilly hippies, above and below
From the north to the south, east to the west, in and out, all around back and forth, low blow.
It is what you’ve heard and accepted as nothing unheard of, highly probable possibility score
Grand slams and shut-outs, field goals, runs, points, shots and scores of the all-star’s two for
Always free to move about the matrix from one dimension to the other, mind blown so easy
Just a tiny nudge from the space of the place you’re lived, straight up, you’re Queen Hillbilly.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. ROCKTOBER 9th, 2019 A.D. @ 5:05 PM PST
{ my laptop NOW fixed by the #GeekSquad specialist Justin Hobson but not the actor, just a genius geek from #BestBuy & drafted this Master’s piece while jammin’ to #LIVE Allman Brothers Band on youTube #Soulsine & HITS LINK @ https://youtu.be/aE1lsCA-y-o }
W.W.A.R.D.?
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