3 STOOGES BEST & GOD IS IN THE SUN, GOD IS IN THE EARTH, GOD IS DEAD LIKE MY MA & PA, #WheresRosalita? 3 HOURS of @BruceSpringsteen 1975-1985

HEADERS’ MUSCLES, ROLLIN’ A QUARTER MILE, GOES GREAT, GO STRAIGHT

Souped up my Grand Turismo Omolgato over the normal 400 c.i. Enzo Ferrari’s Homologated hotrod

It arrived when I was 16, to either die in a GOAT or a Challenger, around dead ape-men’s curvature

If not me it would have been another innocent kid, boy or a girl on the way to work or a date night

In any case, life minus a body doesn’t live another moment, no ghost to give up out the bones’ fight.

Miracle from cause to effect ad infinitum, lost in empty Space’s kayak without a paddle or a rudder

To move with the flow of the current away from the rocks and end of the shore, adrift, my brother

From another mother and father, we’ve come and we’ve gone, some returned while others burned

At the core’s blown meltdown of organized organisms’ refused garbage, black & blue trash turned.

Revolution recycled morons and idiots pretending to be the intelligent genies of a genius I.Q. count

All there is and all that will ever be is what has always been, things themselves and the heated meat

Dreaming about sleeping in peace without one eye wide open, lie down for a spell, no witch’s stunt

War’s warlocks finishing the final details before the black hole’s implosion, all in Thunder’s two feet.

Light either infrared or ultraviolet is neither the holy blackness nor the blinding whiteness of atoms

Blown or fused, no personality to see, hear, taste or smell, it’s what I got no feeling for, the Adams

Eve’s offspring, my kin, distant or kissin’ cousins, alone or with the full compliment of a vacuum Void

All in or all out, it’s a fierce tug of war, a battle for survival of the fit, strong survive a con game droid.

I ran the games under the bridges for cover, the enforced law was an outlaw, what I am is 208 bones

Parted ALL H2O to expose the bottoms’ sandy sea, dead star dirty blues, solar plexus gods’ honeydew

Poker or craps, my cards, my two dice, just one die away from the river’s edge, the flow of Blues’ do

What it does when it’s completely out of sight? Die & see…no doubt, no argument, I’m gone, Homes!

Full of the scat that moved from my conception to my demise, burned or buried, lost at the ape’s seas

Where the food fell from the sky, the money grew on all of the garden’s trees, before I lost divine skis

I slid upward and I fell down into the pit of the vacuum cleaner, sucked into the vortex of Mex & Tex

Everyplace coast to coast, border to border, every moment of nature’s party of One, holier than Sex.

Kids and their orphanages closed after the extinction beat the survivors back down into the dumpster

Where good trash turns into the wealth of the paupers who walk the grounds paved by monkey uncles

Babies and old people, women & men mutated into One, nobody gets out of here & now alive, no sire

Madame and the homegrown lumps of momentary pleasures fill the reputation with Agoura hills fire.

Punks ran the shows behind the curtains, pulled all the strings of the puppets & their mastermind day

All made in slavery's experience of machines that get food from the unsavory rocks that rolled away

From openings of sealed crypts to let the corpses walk without souls or spirits that cause good & evil

Burying all E-cars, E-batteries Last Detail, a Finale Epilogue workin’ on atomic, hot-potato peels still.

Didn’t look both ways when I sped down the alley on my two-wheel Schwinn, ran into a big Chevy

All my fault for dying that day, I lost my ma & pa, my future earning of money, paper route too heavy

Should have picked another route, not a short-cut to the ending, boy scout-altar boy candyman can

For what it’s worth, all American, sold out Elmwood Park, freakin’ Harlem & Grand, Montclair man.

Huts and mansions, farms and factories, it’s the Work, it’s the Play, an American Way of monkey-see

What babies do from infancy to adolescence to make the world go around, eat & shat all to be or not

Every revolution of the Earth around the sun, every elliptical orbit felt over seventy times nor not One

It’s all the same and different than it ever was before, identical to the rattlesnake bite, bitten godson!

by

r j j  stephan, i

c.  Janvier XXIInd, MMXXIII Anno Domini @ 711 AMPST Dimanche
{ Polished this off  #RacinInTheStreet listenin’ to @Springsteen1978 link @ https://youtu.be/L8kUyBoHfTo }

F I N I S

W.W.A.R.D.?

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