UP AND DOWN, WALKIN’ THE DOG*
by
by
----=== #WTFdoYOUthinkYouAre ===----
ssssssssOsssssssss
_
Pertaining to nothing, there is a black hole over here underneath a dead head cracked skull
I don’t know what or why or when or how or who for that matter, naught here is known at all
Features of the creatures left here by exhaust fumes of a Big Bang or two, it’s in the red blood
Atomic washers and dryers full of excreted liquid, solid and gas of your OMa & OPop’s hood.
One day and one night under the covers of being alive, a dream deep in another dream of RA
Sun, moon, planets including the Earth, smokin’ volcanoes and cigars here and now, OORAH
Up in cracked up holes, smoke rises up from the burnt star’s sediment, gold dust of my mama
Reading tomes for recorded power of the mind, there’s nothing but dead air, Grateful Deadly.
Texas to California, Washington, Montana, Mississippi and Illinois, repeat ad infinitum, son
Songs created from the chords of the A’s B’s C’s D’s E’s F’s & G’s, rock, jazz, blue classic mold
All in, Ukraine to the blues of Memphis, Tennessee, cornfields of Iowa, California stated gold.
We have moved, we’ve been animated by the bangs of the Bigs, the ones who dunk the rocks
In and out of the baskets go the balls for no reason other than to count points by live deadline
Game is over at the sound of the gun, the buzzer, bells ring and days end, black light’s so fine
All may be bright or dim but the light is all there is, star-suns blink on supernova gamecocks!
What I am and what I ain’t are One and the same thing, nothing at all, deep into a DNA hater
Where the acid thinks for itself with or without you and I, none of us is needed, we be fodder
For the Cosmic Cake being baked in the black holes of our ancestors’ origin, guitar and drums
Played classic pieces from eons of pounding on animal skin, blowin’ air into west coast bums.
Bringin’ it all on home now, there’s War and there’s Peace, we don’t choose but ‘who’ do ‘G’?
Not you or anyone you know, not me either but I do know who is at the bottom of the #Trip
Beauty and the Beast, we’ve come far from the packs of Lucky Strikes and Camels, all for me
Punk I was, they called me that on the asphalt jungle dead-end street I left, disappeared see?
With or without my dog put to sleep, I am still the Man with God’s gift, an inherited black sea
Spun, wobbled, turned around in an infinite circle of spins and revolutions in Space’s Time in
No time outs left in the bag, everything is broken into shattered shards of nuclear fusion tea
Hot water, cold stones and that is all she wrote yoyo, go ahead and jump for your love, a Sin.
BY
R J J STEPHAN, I
c. FRIDAY, B L O V E M B E R the 8TH, 2019 A.D.
{ jammed out of a SouthJersey.com { Maple Shade, New Jersey } crawl space while listenin’ to the #Beats of Grateful Dead 1987 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Psychedelics & Philosophy on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/vGhMdhdDIlM }
W.W.A.R.D.?
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