WHERE THERE'S SMOKE THERE'S FIRE, EH?
SHE AIN’T REALLY BLOND BUT...
Nothing mattered before and nothing’s gonna matter down the road, first or second gear jam
Motors of my sisters and mothers, brothers and fathers, all of the DNA formed-shape of man
Chemicals with intelligence going faster than the light-speed limit, per microsecond of Time
Space crunched into a microdot singularity from an immense, gargantuan explosion of Space.
Down in southern California at the beach, when the surf’s comin’ up, I do nothing but surf it
Foam above and below me, bubbles of air to keep me conscious of my status as an air sucker
Out of the blue, mother and father left us here all alone to figure it all out, hooks, lines, sinker
Everything you need to come to the ultimate conclusion that you and I are the product of god.
A big one or a little one, nevertheless, there’s something supernatural about the mouth agape
Lookin’ at your brothers and sisters, mothers, fathers and friends, a corpus delicti motif safe
Love’s got nothing to do with It, this or that, you and I got lucky ‘cause our parents duplicated
For love’s lust, ovas came into wombs, Gamma Rays First Cause, a .413’ll shutdown the dead.
On being on a dragstrip or a track, human’s race as humans do, speedin’ to win, lose or draw
Perfection and damage done to the cool cats, merged into 208 bones of cosmic, fake troubles
Wandering, hiding, looking to eat, drink and avoid sharp teeth and a predator carnivore claw
Broken, bloody hearts comin’ premature, infantile ancient mariners spells coded in LSD pills.
The other night, they played our song and we drove up the ONE, I knew I’d get you back here
Lost you once to the convent of nuns and priests of the holy sepulchre, Hollywood’s cried tear
In the tragedy of life’s random causes and effects, there is a subtle comedy rising from ashes
Why you ask? Believe #BlindedFaith in Nothing being Something other than divinity’s asses.
The little girls I once knew turned out to be the fine women who survived the turmoil of wars
Battles to kill the good, the bad and the ugly remain the only way to settle the selfish box cars
From head to toe, hair, fingers and toes with growing nails of the corpses, fillin’ a dead cabal
Zeus’ Will’s underground, eyes wide-opened, Darkness’ power is right on, holy pax sign y’ All!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Jeudi, Thanksgiving that #TheIndian @Squanto, also known as Tisquantum Tisquantum Lodge 164, saved the #Pilgrims back in the #Day, & LISTENIN’ intently to Jimi Hendrix #OnceIHadAWoman from the CD #BLUES on on YouTube link @ https://youtu.be/3wQAMdDvT6Y}
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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