Coming home from the night before I met you, I knew you had to be alive somewhere in Cielo
All the things I’ve dreamed I’ve seen in reality in a New York minute later than most, so slow
Pie cut in eight pieces, halved the whole twice, that’s all it took to even it up, square deal too
All the 90 degree angles added up to four, cut them to 45 degrees & the triangle is navy blue.
High or low at the bottom of the glass where sweet nothings are uttered for the blind faith kid
The only one left over on Earth who doesn’t know that Earth is a gift from 1 Big Bang incident
Caps and the empty bottles holding the emptiness within it’s confines, a shape of you, stupid
I don’t mean to cast aspersions but, I had to give it a shot in the dark, after all, I am the kid.
If only I could skywrite up there in the blue sky, I’d use in-cursive or just whip up my scribble
As if I wasn’t taught everything by the teachers who instructed me to breathe wisdom in hell
Where I’ve been conceived in the darkness without food except for a fluid effulgence, H2O Id
Give it to me, linked up chord to the host, mama, your mama, all of our mamas, Eve’s hot kid.
Get up against the wall if that’s the order, hand up, drop your weapons, sharp knife & sword
Whomever the firecrackers were made for found out about the fission and fusion of me & you
Yes or no to the perennial questions, follow the bouncing balls, stay with me, we’ll be just fine
At the last gasp you’ll be all alone, no partner, mate, amiga or amigo, y’all met your dead line.
Birds sing in the trees the day after you die, nobody knows why, nobody will tell you anything
All you have to worry about is where you’re free to go & what you’ll do when you’re arriving
Stay on the fly, invisible as the creator of Reality we see, the universe really is proof, God’s old
From deep Mississippi to upper Minnesota, the path was narrow, no money left in the gold.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul because there’s not much time to be workin’ by an hour’s branches
Got to steal it, screw friends and acquaintances in the ghetto or deep in the suburbs’ ranches
Copy your signature over & over so it turns out to be identical strokes, crossed T’s & dotted I’s
On the third of September, daddy died, I called him daddy, that’s right, I’m hangin’ my head.
Formula for this and that, named in any of the languages from the tower of Babel, E = mC2
Everybody knew intrinsically but the expression on a blackboard was a blind eye for an eye
Third eye was blinded by the ball of confusion which is perpetually in a state of eternal sucks
Nothing you nor I can do about it, an unsolvable conundrum presented to the ugly men flux.
I am not hearing the sounds of silence and that’s the end of the story, there’s holy watering
Of your mind & body & soul, all you are taught once you’re born in the city of any country
Mental illness and physical infirmity are the worst you may be experience down in the hell
World called Earth, filthy dirt, planet of a sunlit solar system of 9 + or - planets, rung a bell.
What it is was always in the air, you looked at me in the mirror, my ghost was never there
Spirit of the spit, molecular, atomic, random neutrons of protons, electronic neutrino hair
RCA superfine disseminator of ideas & thoughts present in the past when it was the future
Dreaming came true, imagination preceded the thing itself, it ran away with me for sure.
No cure for the disease that’s really the nature of the beast, can’t pollute the holy shebang
It’s a mental concept, as we all are to the One who is imagining that we have a song to sing
Woke, at the wake, all of the thought bubbles above the heads of the sad and mourning ilk
Came out of the woodwork to see the death recover the bones loved & hated by cow milk.
Justice takin’ on the whole world by yourself, no need to check on the plan, you are the One
No more than a single focus, on the way to the Ends of the story, goin’ back home to someone
On your own though, no partners, husbands, wives or buddies, to dry your weepin’ black eye
Why didn’t I have my father’s grey-colored eyes? Maybe he wasn’t my pops? Shat didn’t fly.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Dimanche, June 2nd MMXXIV Anno Domini @ 748 AMPST
{ Bashed this out of the blinding headlights while jammin’ to @TheTemptations #JamzMotown link @ https://youtu.be/rx0DAA3QP8w?si=hf91Y620VFADOVEb }
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
Pie cut in eight pieces, halved the whole twice, that’s all it took to even it up, square deal too
All the 90 degree angles added up to four, cut them to 45 degrees & the triangle is navy blue.
High or low at the bottom of the glass where sweet nothings are uttered for the blind faith kid
The only one left over on Earth who doesn’t know that Earth is a gift from 1 Big Bang incident
Caps and the empty bottles holding the emptiness within it’s confines, a shape of you, stupid
I don’t mean to cast aspersions but, I had to give it a shot in the dark, after all, I am the kid.
If only I could skywrite up there in the blue sky, I’d use in-cursive or just whip up my scribble
As if I wasn’t taught everything by the teachers who instructed me to breathe wisdom in hell
Where I’ve been conceived in the darkness without food except for a fluid effulgence, H2O Id
Give it to me, linked up chord to the host, mama, your mama, all of our mamas, Eve’s hot kid.
Get up against the wall if that’s the order, hand up, drop your weapons, sharp knife & sword
Whomever the firecrackers were made for found out about the fission and fusion of me & you
Yes or no to the perennial questions, follow the bouncing balls, stay with me, we’ll be just fine
At the last gasp you’ll be all alone, no partner, mate, amiga or amigo, y’all met your dead line.
Birds sing in the trees the day after you die, nobody knows why, nobody will tell you anything
All you have to worry about is where you’re free to go & what you’ll do when you’re arriving
Stay on the fly, invisible as the creator of Reality we see, the universe really is proof, God’s old
From deep Mississippi to upper Minnesota, the path was narrow, no money left in the gold.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul because there’s not much time to be workin’ by an hour’s branches
Got to steal it, screw friends and acquaintances in the ghetto or deep in the suburbs’ ranches
Copy your signature over & over so it turns out to be identical strokes, crossed T’s & dotted I’s
On the third of September, daddy died, I called him daddy, that’s right, I’m hangin’ my head.
Formula for this and that, named in any of the languages from the tower of Babel, E = mC2
Everybody knew intrinsically but the expression on a blackboard was a blind eye for an eye
Third eye was blinded by the ball of confusion which is perpetually in a state of eternal sucks
Nothing you nor I can do about it, an unsolvable conundrum presented to the ugly men flux.
I am not hearing the sounds of silence and that’s the end of the story, there’s holy watering
Of your mind & body & soul, all you are taught once you’re born in the city of any country
Mental illness and physical infirmity are the worst you may be experience down in the hell
World called Earth, filthy dirt, planet of a sunlit solar system of 9 + or - planets, rung a bell.
What it is was always in the air, you looked at me in the mirror, my ghost was never there
Spirit of the spit, molecular, atomic, random neutrons of protons, electronic neutrino hair
RCA superfine disseminator of ideas & thoughts present in the past when it was the future
Dreaming came true, imagination preceded the thing itself, it ran away with me for sure.
No cure for the disease that’s really the nature of the beast, can’t pollute the holy shebang
It’s a mental concept, as we all are to the One who is imagining that we have a song to sing
Woke, at the wake, all of the thought bubbles above the heads of the sad and mourning ilk
Came out of the woodwork to see the death recover the bones loved & hated by cow milk.
Justice takin’ on the whole world by yourself, no need to check on the plan, you are the One
No more than a single focus, on the way to the Ends of the story, goin’ back home to someone
On your own though, no partners, husbands, wives or buddies, to dry your weepin’ black eye
Why didn’t I have my father’s grey-colored eyes? Maybe he wasn’t my pops? Shat didn’t fly.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Dimanche, June 2nd MMXXIV Anno Domini @ 748 AMPST
{ Bashed this out of the blinding headlights while jammin’ to @TheTemptations #JamzMotown link @ https://youtu.be/rx0DAA3QP8w?si=hf91Y620VFADOVEb }
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
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