STRAIT-JACKET
HANDOFF, WHITE-BLACK MAGIC SPELL
I used to cry when I found out that someone I loved died, friend or relative but thenWhy I cry? You & I are all gonna die if we made it past the immaculate conception hen
Father in heaven or somewhere within or without the cosmic egg shell, God’s DNA high
Leaving an innocent creation alone without wisdom is ill advised, sorry God, gonna die.
On an irregular basis, I pull into the dry-dock to eliminate the barnacles from my inner hull
I knew they’d come the H2O, just like anchovies & the rest of the old men’s fish in a crock
Full-on hook ‘em, burn ‘em in hot fire & then eat ‘em & you’ll find in the end, it’s shat for all
Three musketeers got an infinite supply in Space, straight-ape finite tryst of gas, cold rock.
Cried ‘til all tears dried, then whimpered uncontrollably for mama already gone, bye sons
Pops just doin’ the hit & run thing, programmed into the genome to survive, gotta get high
Superb stratosphere where angels fear to go, kissing up on emptiness’ in a fallen white lie
It’s a sun burnin’ up the helium on high, far, far away from the other fake suns’ dimensions.
Regrets annihilated at the realization that this is all there is, no heaven or hell for a good sin
Mortal, venial, original & the ignorance of commands to obey a code create by a magic jinn
Thought I mixed up the theories & the happy hour drinks together, put a parasol in a cherry
I’ll eat & drink it, I’ll urinate or defecate it & then on a final trip, draw on my license to carry.
All of us who comprehend are too human not to believe that the world is a form of Matter
From the macroscopic, nothing animated can be seen, no infinite vision of a clean-up batter
Only a myopic gaze ready to swing too late, after the facts just to pad the strike-out record
A professional full of regret, once a prime MVP & now inebriated by disgust for the horde.
Not alcohol or cannabinol or any of the myriad of ways to try to die before Time outruns
Out or in, either way it always finishes up in a hot whimper, release of the last puff of puns
Punny but not so funny, bad jokes are usually on me when I forget the punch lines, I wanna
Recollect the laughter, ear-to-ear smiling faces pretending to be my friends, fixed it, it’s Canna!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Samedhi, June 17th 2023 Anno Domini @ 1212 PMPST
{ Broke the Word up, left the fragments for the hunger, dinner & lunch are here & now @VanMorrison
#DaysLikeDis @ https://youtu.be/Y_i4WeubOII }
F I N I SW.W.A.R.D.?
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