#MiddleOfADeadEndRoad * 4:20 < or = to IV/XX * #NealYoung2021archives @Temptations #BallOfConfusion etc, etc, etc...

4:20 ROMAN TIME, PICKIN' & GRINNIN' IN MARGARITAVILLE
Pleased by the facts of life that the sun, one of a billion stars, never moves up or down to goons
Just burns up the atoms of things themselves, approved of or like it or not, they're gods screwin'
You can't take any of it with you when you die, it's an undeserved gift token, an accidental tour
Of the high & mighty gravitational collapse, cracked skin, stretched out strings, needle & spoons.

Terrific and terrifying at one and the same time, at 4:20 twice every day, dawn & sundown jive
Miracles and just common, everyday causes and effects of things happening to satiate the beast
In everything and all those things in the middle of nowhere with nothing better to do than Live
Sweet concoctions yielding the happiness & beauty gracing Time in outerspace with me at least.

Emotions and tattoos all over the surface that's skin tight for six decades, edge of town still dark
Wrinkled and out of the elastic plastic, the rubbernecker bags of bones, blood and head brain
Monkeys genuflect for nobody but men do, kings & queens get it without an X-box, cancel a cult
Long and tall has an inequality between being parallel or perpendicular to Orion sword, star belt.

Sex puts you here like it or not, don't get the power of the evil ones who want to kill God's gift
Each and every one of the hunters and gatherers get a slice of Time and they defecate Tic Tocs
Awakened or in a somnambolistic, zombie state of being, walking and talking on every 3rd shift
In the gravitational collapse, in the singularity, in the holy hole of an invisible spirit, I'm One fox!

My lady is the perfect fit for the last piece of the puzzle, in the groove as it should be, it's a wrap
Gigs are all dried up from the dehydration of the seven seas, dry salt left to kill the dirty words
Not with soil but with the mind of the listener, it's right there that the infraction records crepe
Paper processed from the bottom of dead tree pulp, no print or cursive in the mind of the herd.

Groovin' inside of the inner circle where nobody but me resides, as a turtle does, out of sea shells
Breathe in and out with full confidence that it's your fuel to animate the unmoved and kill words
Wait until the pitch blackness over the water on a new moon night, a place for Nothing but birds
Unwelcome to fish in the sea and most crawling, jumping & flying prey in anti-gravity dumbbells.

by
r j j  stephan, i
c.  Sunday, April 25th, 2021 @ 1:11 PMPST
{  Drafted while listenin' to #Superstition by @StevieWonder & other jams on iHeartRadio link @ https://www.iheart.com/artist/marvin-gaye-1489/ for your edification, enjoy & be aware, this record will self-destruct once you're read it!  }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?