A RHUMBA OF RATTLESNAKES
You falsely believed that everything you think, all you ever do is a delusion of a delirium
But the Truth be known, now and forevermore until a gravitational collapse, on the take
Maybe yours too, in the game with the balls smackin’ and bankin’ in angular momentum
Confidence in the blind faith that only Lady Luck controls, in the rack or on a clean break.
Records broken on a broken record and other spinnin’ discs comin’ in and out of the scene
Chicago hospital in 1951 to the yard of birds near the tracks of the Ville of Roses, run a dozen
It is never easy when you have the je ne se qua, whatever it is that makes the world go, huh?
It’s a sound, a melody and a back beat of wood and tight skins, cymbol tins, crashin’ mama!
Born to be calm but turned wild for the sake of survival in the city sewer of cosmic bat & rat
Comin’ in loud and clear to the city and county where you pay heed to the rule of law & shat
Void and noise all in One place at the same time, a Space no savior or avatar ever knew, OK
It’s not tht important that the leaders lie to themselves and pass on the antique Truth, today.
Down the middle path between the yield & stop signs, there’s a dead end you’ll certainly see
No way to return from that point, no mercy from any men or angels, just GTF away from me
Solo flight without backup, without a co-captain, it all depends on me, all I need I don’t buy
All of my guns were loaded and I’ve spent all of my ammo on the target, same holy bullseye.
Pawns to be used by the moves to and fro, blowing smoke in the blue screen passin’ my kin
You and I always want as much peace and courtesy as we can get, it’s there in mortality sin
Being in the 208 bones and muscles that animate the skin of divine calculation, a con miracle
Without a single doubt, all of these things in Reality cannot be an accidental crash into Hell.
Bingo for the game’s O-68, it’s a funky four corner win in the Twilight Zone, a far away city
Further than Nome and Ushuaia, north to south, east to west, it’s all up and down, all I see
Blinded by the flood and spot lights so that I could see nothing but a white spot, black dot
Played like the tool in a dream I was born to be in, all too human rattlesnake rhumba, a lot.
Pathetic tragedy to be without your a mater or fater until the form and shape of it all rises
Up to the 8 miles higher than the pebbles underfoot, out where there’s no air, all off the air
Dead air in fact, between the here and now and there and then, if there’s a UFO, sweet, OK
Then again there’s the the loss of verve and nerve, bones won’t move, mind’s gone, TODAY.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Monday, May 18th, 2020 A.D. @ 4:20 PM PST #FWAAAT?
{ Drafted while listenin’ to Jonny Lang Columbia Theater Berlin 10/25/2017 link @ https://youtu.be/gXsjF17gsDs }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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