FLYS ON THE WALL, SONS OF BEE *
Demonic rats vote black and white trash into positions of signature authorization but I’ll cry
Tears aren’t comin’ down my cheeks any longer since they’ve dried up in the county’s pig sty
A reason for the intrepid drunk tanks of the cities and towns of the whole world of golden dirt
Placed here & now in Space without an infinite allotment of time to face the fact, God’s a flirt.
For the sake of being a neutral stimulus for nothing at all in regard to philosophy of lives’ skit
Dream within a dream in each and everyone of the beings, the homo sapiens, One’s alive in It
1st contact with UFO’s synapses’ type of linguistics, ghostly mysterious, atheistic magic trick
Gets the babies of the seven continents believing that they will remain alive when dead, Sick!
Now then, since it’s impossible for all innocent folk to both know the Truth and be happy too
A panacea for this decimating data is that you will walk nearly alone without catching the flu
Sick & laying dying is for the masses who believe that there’s no better Time than the Present
It’s wrong like Marx, Lenin & Trotsky but not Trump & Geo. Washington’s advice & consent.
Making fun of what you see and writing and speaking as if you know it all, it’s a funny sound
You observe with your intellect and interpret the horrible sights, sounds and feelings of life in
Or out of white and black trash cans and dumpsters, dregs of humanity, rats and roaches’ sin
Looking around 360 degrees, contemplating One’s naval, mother, father of all underground.
Somebody like my grandma or my daddy told me before I could see over the commode to pee
You should always do your duty to God and your country, be nice to your ma, your papa & kin
Never steal another man’s girlfriend, wife or private property and watch your back for the sin
None alive will be as good as you, no one else will always be philosophically correct, trip to be.
Schools harbor the teachers of the philosophies which are exactly like virus’ DNA & bacteria
They teach invasion of the host, break down the codes of order and dissolve the mass hysteria
Leaving destruction of the order of things because they had Nothing, they love Nothing at all
That’s the ends of origins but not the coffin of a climax yet, a personal death’s shroud, a pall.
Underground or in an urn full of ash and bone, maybe in a box on a shelf in a closet’s bowls
To go back to the place you came from which is nowhere but here, a gleam in your kin’s eye
Animated cosmic trash, dust of magnetic behavior of Red Giants & Singularity Black Holes
...void, empty, zero gravity, silence, feel Nothing, you always were, now shoot the wall’s fly!
by
r j j stephan, i * StopTappinTheHeader
c. Tuesday, Nine-TwentyNine, TwentyTwenty Anno Domini @ 4:44 AM PST
FINIS!
W.W.A.R.D.?
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