#AreYouBullScattin'? #ComeOnMan #JerseyGirlsROCK (MY ITALIAN WIFE 'C')

PUNKS, DERELICTS & OUR BROTHERS' DAUGHTERS

I don't like being the only one knowing about something critical, therefore, it is

Without further ado that I introduce myself & my ilk, so I can validate the peace

It's here and now, before and after the wars we wage with our cousins' crossbone

You and I know one thing for certain, it's a principle of Substance, a Form of One.

It's as above from a thought to below as an action, gods go up & come down in twos

In the air, like telephone or cellphone or radio waves we receive & clear off the blues

Common ground I cannot retrieve from the empty void full of happiness & my tears

All gone, already better now that I've forgotten the pleasure & pain of 6 pack of beers.

Bums are really the humanity that lost it's way of reproducing the species' prostitutes

Pretending to replicate the species for the cash in greenbacks or fool's gold trinket trash

Any port in the storm means that you go where it's safe and warm when it's a sunami

Aftereffects come when it's all over, you get the bends, the runs & then you'll all see.

Lucky to have been here for the moments allowed, above & below the life I have lived

There's nothing more nor less than all else with or without a wink & a nod,  I am loved

Subatomic or macrocosmic dots of data allow the compilation's constellation H2O bed

Stop breathing yourself, you're dead, it's over, you're a mind & brain, then you DEAD!

Invent the wheel & invent how to steal the wheels & you get to this civilized culture

In front of your eyes, you learn the ropes from the young who knew nothing's pure

Like ten commandments or a golden rule to force the animal to be carnivore's best

Or just any humanity would do if it wasn't negative but it's survival of me, a fit test!

After a while with the crockodiles you find yourself deep in the swamp of ill will

Nobody but the orphans that surround you with their cultural ethnographic pill

Takin' it like a man, like a punch in the face or bein' a woman's hell, a labor race

Pain & suffering to change from one to two in nine months more or much less.

On the game, there never were any rules, just laws of thermodynamic mud

Rocks the cold & grown old into a hodgepodge of something bleeding blood

Meaning the sounds of silence & the words of language expressing little feat

In the finale, there's no encore, it's over when it's over, finis, it is complete!

by

r j j  stephan, i

c.  Mercredi, July XXVIIth, MMXXII Anno Domini at 555 AMPST

{ Drafted in Silence, click, click of the keyboard, internet & youtube DOWN... UP }

F I N I S

W.W.A.R.D.?