#WorksOfFire #FireWorks

‘71, THE YEAR I VACATED CHICAGO, ONE DECADE LEFT IN BAD SMELLS

4^th of the month July when the freedom began, cut off the crown from the tax on your head

Killed a bunch of the cousins who came after our gold & our children, subjects of the royal dead
Bent over in a night’s mares, in the middle of the daylight, got them knocked out of park’s field
Opened up my billfold and your purse strings came undone; I got thee & you got all gold seed.

Parking in the zone where nobody gets back out into the heavy traffic alive, I mean nobody at all
God to angelic demons created by the only one who could, the master of the minions we all fell
Down below where they remain to this day, the revolution is now & then when a move is schtick
Nobody can ever put this king in a Mate, impossible due to a failsafe method of stalemate kick.

I was a young boy & I turned into a middle-aged man now as old as the dead ones already gone
No comin’ back from all the smokin’ and drinkin’ I did like a devil may care, I ne’er slowed down
Still movin’ like there’s no tomorrow, there’s a bread line down the street, got my hobo baggage
Carried, kicked, exchanged the found for what’s lost in Space, comin’ back in, sweet baby’s age.

Hectic as the #Woke and the laid back as the #AlreadyGone, it’s the shebang in disarray parlay
Events of a Singular pinhole in the matrix of empty smoke, it’s almost gone now, what’d I say?
You received what you sent, returned the fire to the ice, it’s all in a great ball of fire, sunny Sun
Baking until it’s burned up and out of sight, swallowed in the Void, I’m the ghost of Father’s Son!

I’ve got something other than Time on my side, it’s angels alive now who used to be o’er here
But now their skin and bones are long gone, buried or burned in the hot fire of the blood’s beer
Frequency of the short & long funky wavelengths that go ultraviolet blue to scarlet, cocaine blue
As above, so below who said that before doesn’t rule the cosmos, say it loud, Above, so below!

Little bits of fun along the narrow way where you move on from origin to the terminal ends
Frozen stiff without heart beating blood-flow, makin’ The Moving out of a Hollywood tent
To see and understand whether you’re blind, far or near sighted that you’re in a gene pool
Of what used to be a solitary gamete & ovum, possibly twins or a trio’s trip three, survival.

Playin’ the game without knowing the rules of engagement is a fool’s errand I’m not into
Without all rules the game is unfair & a useless waste of time losing for certain, me too
Punks of gargantuan size, way over six feet taller than a midget-sized all too human kid
Magnify the invisible to expose Nothing clearly as a transparent piece of plastic bag-lid.

It’s all about what is inside that counts, when you die it doesn’t matter, y’all highwayman
Mission without a purpose, killed the ones who murdered my family, friend & countrymen
Pretending to be nourished by the reduction of pure air to breathe into the baby humans
Being in one incubator is good for a century, give or take, it’s you & it’s me, #FinsUp fans.

Fried, baked, cooked or raw, the fruit and vegetation of the plantation, we ate & smoked it
Until the Earth ceases to wobble and twirl in a counter-clockwise spin to the ecliptic orbit
Seven continents and millennia just Space & Time as usual, every occasion to tweet a link
Extinction ends a line, it drops a dime on your gait, squirt entrails of blood, bloody hot pink.

by

r j j  stephan, i

c.  July 4, 2023 Anno Domini @ 222 PMPST

{ Ripped this #CherryBomb off of my inner lining core of sacred, clear-light spirit to share with the naked bones of your skull and body, while jammin’ to 31 year old concert @JohnCougerMellencamp link @ https://youtu.be/68On9KZ9Ihc }

F I N I S

W.W.A.R.D.?