@FreakingFunky

PUPIL, IRIS, SCLERA & TBONE VOID

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Monday, July 6, 2020

-------------------  #HighDeeHigh --------------------

A moment in Time after I woke up from a dream within a somnambolistic stupor, eyes blink

I’m present right here in this place in Space, right this very second of this day, at sea’s tundra

On top of the world just spinning with the revolution in perpetuity, on the way to a supernova

Common knowledge and fake wisdom to fill in the spaces between the ears of skulls of stink.

Amen, as the minions would say as they reproduced the sycophants who trumpet the feats

Compared to tomorrow, today is on my list of favorite days I’ve ever lived during Dixieland

Disgusting yet all there is to it, mixed in the middle of a deposit of Suzy Q’s whipped cream

I know you’ve got what it takes to move the subject and predicate the objective wet dream.

Mine or anyone else’s thing is what we do, we do our thing, we do what we wanna do, Yes?

Scarlet scars defacing the stone granite shape of a memory, eaten by the enemy of the Fez

It’s the deep state secret that’s got this taken desecration of California States of falsehoods

Bludgeoned and treated with kid gloves to make sure you gave a bad review of the goods.

What is the nature of the beast within and the One before an arrow bulls eyed water fjords

Microcosmically imperceptible yet clear as the day, twelve roses for a sociopathetic handle

The pristine nature of the tweaking up and down the frets in liberty and indentured shackle

Among the painful yet essential realities of the perfect union of blues and rhythm war-lords.

I am going to punch the eyes out of the guardians when they return from their 3 hour tour

Not literally of course but I am going to rerun the entire history of humanity from day one

To the present and near future where angels had feared to go until today, I called the bluff

I could have been wrong and getting burnt to a crisp in Hades, punk I am and tough enough.

Nothing comes, goes and comes back again, that’s a myth of the workin’ honky tonk rednecks

Skin in the game to pursue goals of search and destroy, as if the holy spell itself ever could

Punks and grieving warriors’ spouses all in paradise, seeing a gift of old school rubbernecks

As if I’d fall for BEING normal, like I was born yesterday or never born at all, wish you would.

Jokes are all on me, from 1st to last hilarious guffaw beyond the pale, hit on the darker side

Painted scenes on canvas or concrete, sung and printed words to see and take a free to ride

To the places you’ll never get to in real life in the boondocks or the swamps, out of my reach

Of alligators and bullhead waiting to live longer than your deeper monkey in a burnt roach.

Devils play no fiddles and there ain’t no hickory stumps up in heaven, C. Daniels full moon

Fire flyin’ from your fingertips now and the melody and rhythm is catchin’ the soul all alone

Inside or outside of this bread pan where the birds feed, pickin’ out the lies told before noon

Monkeys elated, gangsters’ gigs, evolved from the cavemen, RIP’d spacemen soon, real soon.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Monday, July 6th, 2020 A.D. @ 8:45 PM PST

{ Drafted while listenin’ to Stevie Ray Vaughan & Albert King #DontLieToMe https://youtu.be/-ZL2b4O3nz8 }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?