STUCK TO A PUNK’S STICKY POT
Richard Joseph Stephan · Wednesday, September 2, 2020
Dusted off, imploded in a microbe Singularity, suckered into incarnated sex pistol flagellates
From deep depths of being a barefoot senorita with two Margaritas to send me to places gone
I need some music and a couple more shots and I’ll be gone, right here and now, altered fates
Free to be me anytime I want cuz, I’m the One who created my commingled warrior top-gun.
A gracious bow to my ancestors who preceded me before I find myself all gone, back to dust
There’s no sun and no rain and definitely no pain where we’re all goin’ to the Great Beyond
Last chances to be the good, the bad and the ugly to take advantage of anything but the death
Miami to Peking, nothing stops a virus or a bacterium from moving into the seizing of breath.
You may have forgotten about your own mortality because you’re so busy stayin’ alive, alone
Family and friends cannot stand in for you when it’s time to take a powder from power, stone
In Pacific or Atlantic or Indian oceans or any of the bottomless Dead Seas of a dry rotted rock
Without hydrogen and oxygen’s accidentally recombined a gravitational collapse on a block.
Gods got nothing to say before the linguistics were materialized from the ether, the form’s O
Sooner than later, the floating and sinking will be done, like it never existed at all, caput bro!
All of us, all of yours and mine, all gone, Time and Space of the eclectic divinity, invisible roe
Big Bang is coming in an eon or two, maybe three, we’ll be on our way, Singularity be in me!
Pertaining to the unknown pressure you see in the middle of a green rive-run to my equators
Nothing else you’ll think of doing except, eating, sleeping, staying out of trouble, old tweeters
In a thorough search for the meaning of life according to my father and brothers, holy secrets
Shoes and gloves off, naked as the birth day’s light, 208 bones swig a Margarita, Tequila fits.
Smoked, drank, snorted and listened to the rock of ages, the century’s divine sounds of Man
Boys and girls couldn’t take much more than the orphanage could dish out, we adopted pain
Now on the far end of the living life spectrum from to be or not to be to what could have been
Missed the opportunity that was knocking on the wood, I thought someone would answer it.
Sorry about nothing, it’s not my fault or my responsibility and you know it’s the Truth, news
Hair of the dog comes once or twice every week ‘til my liver wouldn’t give me another stagger
Kidneys did their best but the dialysis killed the living, injected the venom of death’s dagger
Leaked living water, locked, loaded, red, whitey gone deep dive into a pretty senorita’s blues.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Mercredi, September 2nd, 2020 Anno Domini @ 11:11 AM PST
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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