#WashYourHands #Suppertime #StayAwayFromMeAlways @JonnyLang

DAMMED SKIPPY, HER NAME’S SHE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, June 6, 2020

------------- #SticksAndStones #BreakMyBones -------------

Candy apple red is the shifty shade of what I look like when I’m strapped in her inner chassis

Lucky to pay cash and have no payments, insurance is two car payments per month, in stasis

Balanced with a low platform, steering like a dream straight and on Dead Man curves for two

Holy cows nightime barbeque, bones and muscles bound, cut into a T bone, a slice of the fool.

A dream within a dream of beating up looters and stealing the loot back for the owner’s soul

Perfect recollection of the past hundred years, over 30,000 days and nights to throw the roll

Little Pinky and Big Punky own the whole shebang, lock, stock and barrel for the love of Deus

In a holy word, a byte of nomenclature signifying the essential element of all too human dust.

Without a word to the wise, there is a private thought to the idiot, I think therefore I ain’t one

Now, for God’s sake, in the name of the holy ghosts who haunt chambers and vaults of no fun

Alert and awake to the seeds in the soil that will be watered and pressured before Time’s up

Imperative command from logic and reason of Earth minions, special creation accident cup.

Here is a #Struggle but not #TheStruggle because of the bleach of the accidental R/DNA load

White teabags leaching the dormant potential and capability of the mixed and a blended blow

How you sow, so shall you reap and what you see will be what you get, the plastic lava flowed

Grey men and women blending civilizations away from Key Largo and Montego to a Kokomo.

Bold as I ever wanted to be when I was perfectly One, an egg without a spermatozoon flagella

Wandering in the void of the womb coming down from where the mother of my true platform

Not the two or the trinity, no quad or gang of cinqo de mayo, an April fool in a perfect storm

Breeze of the coolness and the blistering warmth coming and going with a southern flotilla.

It’s cherry red for certain but underneath the hard, painted candy apple red’s forbidden fruit

Confronted with dualism of you and I, I always win and you don’t, unless I say so, “It is done”

Nothing more nor less to debate with syllogistic deduction than a star’s birth, a son of a gun

Miracle of the cause and effect without an origin, born to play Spades, kiss my diamond boot.

It’s for you to pity the fools ‘cause I have absolutely none for them, they’re alright bein’ blind

After the freaking living’s all gone, you’ll know It, Unknown, Cherokee nation’s hell’s kitchen

Imagine this, lightening strikes you in the face between the eyes, blinds the ocular nerve head

Left in the dust, #LetsRide down to a Singularity-Self, a right angle back to no return semen.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Samedhi, 6-6-20 @ 9:11 AM PST

{ Drafted in a gaelstorm of WORD while listenin’ to @StevieWinwood #RollWithIt link @ https://youtu.be/u_vkKozA8OI#TODAY }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?