#HIllbillyDeluxe

A C C E S S I B L E  H I L L B I L L Y

Time came before you knew that it was part of the off-key song sung by a guy
Or a gal, all of the same species of hominid, not even one better or worse than
Random conceptions on or underground, original sin’s excruciating natal pain
Disobeying a god in the hosted garden, Boston to Monterey, sunset to gold dawn.

Points taken from one end of the spectrum to the other, UV light to the Infrared
Monks in caves read the Word, kept the Word, hid the Word, all living will be dead
In a moment that cannot be known by the One inside of the flesh and 208 bones
All but spent inside of the Void full of tongues-out @Rolling_Stones, on i-phones.

We’re all here and now on the same page, language only matters to the boogeymen
Linguistic analysis yields the premises and deduced induction of specious acumen
Charlie’s in the concreted jungle, you know we seen that faraway look, deep Hades
Government issued to host the myriad of GI parties for the angels and all animals.

Nothing is more urgent than breathing, healthy eating, defecating & divine liberty
Midnight to high noon, the gamble is being conceived in concert with rollin’ stones
Defalcation of all of yours & all of mine, the gold & silver pirate treasures of the ID
Stolen from the occult & the perceived reality, form’s essence nobody can even see.

Halls of empty, dead air like the stuff you’re breathing right this very moment too
I am as well, deeply or shallow, above or underwater, the gas is what keeps us blue
Montgomery to Tacoma, #LetUsDoThis your thing, our thing, every mother’s son
Born to be tamed like old Adam & old Eve, you know the epic saga, all said & done.

You’d think the apes of your culture, your civilization soon to disappear, as such
Rambling more or less from the start of the get-go, anti-clockwork burnt orange
Sensation of the sixth sense requires the five senses to be as #Woke as a sumbeach
No conceived zygote needs me to advise, Truth is all about the nature of grunge.

Grown men cry just like the little baby boys they used to be, tears on our pillow
The wet well of disappointment or fear of death has dried up like a desert, slow
Known or occult, it’s over when it’s over, if it’s not over, I’ll let you tell me it’s me
All my imagination and that’s gonna fade away the day I die, conscious or not, see?

Monkeyed around with the history read from the Presidents & Popes, govern my ID
May I have your attention please, boys and girls? Diamond rings for the MASH chit
Mobile Air-Sea Hospital, in an infinite loop of reruns, movie and of #4077 kitty porn
Dream, wake up, sleepwalk, daydreamers’ function is just a kiss away from a Tinhorn.

by
r j j stephan, i
c. Lundi, 2-20-MMXXIII Anno Domini @ 711 AMPST