COMING RIGHT OUTTA COMPTON’S CHLOROPHYL CONCOCTION
Above the glow of your hot blood in your bleeding heart, there’s room for deeper function
To be or not to be isn’t the only question for the Bacon nor the Bard, there’s one more skin
It’s very thin to cover up the blood and bones, flexible as the plastic and stiff as what’s hard
Usually too far gone to do anything but shatter into shards, once or twice, there’s a bell jar.
What you do when you fall down to the ground to get out of the rain, that’s up to you all
No more, no mas, it’s the ending of the story’s original line of fire, here & now, a last call
To the kids of the motherless children, orphans of gods on Earth, failed comingled spunk
Can’t drive in the parking lot, it’s full of the grub grabbers, dead cows formed, flat funk!
Mixed, menudo is all the same, every little thing in a big ball of anti-matter fuss & funk
As above, the black and empty is everywhere we go, grim inside of empty skulls T-bone
Society folks reek like they do, no secret scent of the flowers and the whiff of the skunk
On a trip without a ship, car, bike or board to move faster than my feet, carry me home.
Equation is an inequality and a fraction of the One, many times one is still the identity
Not two or tree like my daddy told me, it’s just me & you, a number one numeric duo
Fear spelled backward is all you need to slam the meanings, it’s all about RAEF-beats
Reefers on board, just surfin’ reefs, smokin’ BBQ’s dead fish, meat-life’s hooved-feet.
We’re the game of the hunter we don’t know, a specter of imaginary, empty, too high breeze
All along the Renton watchtower where Jimi feared to go, there were signaling dogwood trees
Thoughts of a thinker come into one’s mind and flitter away in a New York minute of soil sex
Rather be in peril’s double jeopardy than behind bars, in gaol or prison camp behind a crux.
Peter, Paul, Mary & the brood of non-sequitur arguments pro & con, all too human probed, dead
Not even meat to eat, funny how that goes, plant of the ants, all recycled mushy mish-mash bread
Made in an oven or just in a factory of creation from raw material to useful form of Life’s band-aid
Covering up open gashes and sore cuts and bruises, so the healing can resume the holy crusade.
Lookin’ for love and peace, hippy or beatnicky from way back in the olden days, came & long gone
Nowhere in this material world, barely in the immaterial recollections of the deception of i-Phone
As if you have the world in your pocket, in your hands if the charge is full function, yet you do not
Nothing can be the atomic fission and fusion while maintaining all too human shapes of divine Rot.
On rivers, oceans, beaches & snow-bound, frozen tundra, as if bad, mean guys kick a foot ball over
Goal posts and helmet heads of the symbolic angels of the Down, a touch and a throwdown a lover
Makes seven senses tingle even if there are yet, five or six, one extra above the fray, in a paper bag
Being nothing, knowing nothing is an omniscient being without dimensional form, essentially a hag.
From ma & pa, don’t know where they went afterlife but there under the rocks & soil, casket dirty
Undug from the moment of the Big Bang, now deeper than the unfathomable, fashion of the chitty
Banged the jams out of the symbolic cymbals and blew wind from the holy pipes, twisted & straight
It is done, a whirlwind of seams bursting, letting it all hang out, hip-hair hung down, God dang Fate!
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Slamuary Vth, MMXXIII Anno Domini, Jeudi @ 666 AMPST
“On the corners with the orphans and firebirds who get called when the going’s way too tough;
Ridin’ dirty surf until the curls wane into air- bubble foam, full moon to a neon One, 51 card deck” - - - - - - - - -anonymous
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