BROTHEL OF PUNKS, KNOCKED UP
All 3/5’s of the world-as-we-know-it have metabolized and left some ice tea, hard rock freaky
Where wise men and brave men and women fear to go, why? Because they’re all living dead
The species imploded, exploded and then became embroiled in a supernova’s holy singularity
Without the Permission from some #PowersThatBe, ma’s egg downloaded my happy ending.
Recollect your own mother and father copulating or at least your conception in a tiny bell jar
Where the miasma brings the chaos and the paradise lost, neverland to be the Tesla space car
My gods from Athena to Adam, Eve and back to Zeus, Zarathustra or Methuselah of Boulder
Completely in the deep pocket, past the sweet spot and unable to connect to the 4 bag homer.
Yet the one fist punch in the solar-plexus that will cease all nervous jokers’ fool ships for free
Drunken nights when star’s are out, I’m down above and below, way deep inside a penumbra
I will throw you a bone or a treat if you promise you’ll watch over my territory, don’t bite me
Truck to pull the boat, loaded my warm gun with the silver bullets that I loaded, Yo Deborah!
That’s her name, she’s as fine as any heat I’ve ever handled in my hot, little mitts and tasty I’s
Freaks in the fountain of youth, drunk of the vines and the roots of life ungrounded, slipknots
Square knots alternating to get the noose so tight it cannot be undone, a matter of kids’ eyes
Looking through the glass which is nothing but candy-land microdots, no comprendo mojo!
Fugly men who cannot reproduce their mothers’ and fathers’ kinds, DNA replicas of cavemen
Not only the Australopithecus but also all divine forms of gentle movements in sunshine acid
Calm your inner movements and become the calm pond without wind, without humanity’s Id
Monkeys’ bones, idiots, morons who’ve survived, became buried like nobody’s food ever did.
If you weren’t the soup or the sandwich contents, you were good to go to work for the Powers
Ones who got here first before the rest of US did, The American Natives, long-knife showers
Screaming to the smoke and the fire going up, up and away from the ground of being, angels
Our spirit’s smoke. runs our heart and soul pumping system, I’m One, hammer & pop-sickle!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Saturday, June 20, 2020 @ 2020 hours PST #YourMama
{ Drafted while listenin’ to the mighty 'RARE-EARTH' on youTube link @ #MA https://youtu.be/WkJ1wqQo3zg }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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