YOYO, SILHOUETTE OF HAND JIVE
Richard Joseph Stephan · Tuesday, March 3, 2020
------------------- #WOKE not... ------------------
You’re broke-back of a split end of an intelligence quotient, it’s all your fault, ain’t it a shame?
It’s the inheritance of the genetic recombination of the living souls that survived idiot blame
Creating more of one’s species, one’s own kind no matter which race of skin and culture spin
Movement of the illusion we entertain as the Truth about the metaphysically imaginary kin.
Professional hamburger riders at the rodeo, hitting the hard balls out of the corral, eat fans
Roaches and snakes that move the virus from place to place, immune from bacterial hands
Who talks and writes about things that they know nothing about? Nobody, that’s a factoid
High probability that you’ll die today or later on down the road but I won’t, #ImAnAndroid.
Got any good reasons to survive longer than your Time in this Space? Have a Corona, pops!
It is the way to keep the inner spirit flushed with the colored water of hops and Jupiter drops
Swimming in a lake or down river to the mouth of the sea, bytes of tusks mating like a walrus
Good, bad and ugly are the arguments for everything being everything, an idiot’ll die a hero
The hero is an idiot, defending the weak who are picked on by extinction of a primate species
Virus of Corona is just a circle of electrons wanting to reprogram your proton-neutron glove
Resistance is futile even if the holy men and sacred women protest and beckon mercy above.
Spin the yoyo up and down, around the world, walk the dog, baby in the cradle, tricky tricks
Function of your calculus and my equations of inequality yield the One and the Many, as is
Nothing more nor less than everything being everything that it’s always been, what it’ll be
Down home or way back in the pre-nature machine, out of this solar system’s galaxy slicks.
Peeling away from the starting line, layin’ rubber for 50 feet and catchin’ traction in position
Runnin’ redlights, slammin’ into baby strollers and old ladies in wheelchairs, overload of sin
Mortality or veniality are nothin’ but an original sin of disobedience to the commander-chief
Never before has creation revolted until the creator created a free will, not divine to err thief.
Now then the blues were made to play and sing slow and easy, like you’ve run out of go-juice
No more crying before dying, just a mouth agape and eyes wide open, a mass grave of a ruse
Playin’ all from birth, through self-awareness’ morality and ethics of dread, death in a squall
Right when you thought you had it made in the shade, it appears y’all are just flys on the wall.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Tuesday, Three, Three, 2020 A.D. @ 9:11 AM PST
{ Drafted while jammin’ to the mighty Allman Brothers #NoWayOut LIVE @ THE Filmore Theatre, 1805 Geary Blvd Sanfrancisco circa 1971 - the year I joined the War USAF ‘71-75 link @ https://youtu.be/yJ9twEldw_M }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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