Full of something other than food I smelt and ate off of a porcelain dishes, a silver spoon fuss
Just a young pug born n’ raised in the city and traded off to the hillbillies down in Mississippi
Where mud and inbred blood flowed slower than molasses but never quit movin’ veins’ ruins
Pushed up the daisies until the bulldozers mixed up the dirt and bones back to the star’s dust.
Nobody gets out of here alive, you will either suffer or twang with momentary pleasures, here
Now or never is what the motto of the Haunting Egotists relayed to me the first 10 or 20 year
Then suddenly with little or no warning, catastrophe and disaster reared ugly from the slick
First mover put the thrust and momentum to shoot me straight into the egg, me, I’m zygotic.
Wherever in space this leads to whichever time ends the moon-shone sun, so serendipitous
That is where we’ll all be, in a singularity monument to the absolute Void of the Miraculous
We had it all at one singular point and then we lost it all into the separation of form’s matter
It ain’t my fault but I think it’s yours, that this man’s being is home of gods, f’kn mad hatters.
I will stay around a little longer to see if I can shed any light on the darkest subject of objects
No predication will solve the mystery but I do remember that the touch of the hot spot works
Awake from conception con-game until the dawn comes to drop the dime, don’t swear holy It
Now n’ then, recollect I told you so, that’s all, on with your day, you’ll live and die, #phuqette!
Second helping of the main course puts the planetary system in alignment with a balanced Id
A thing itself, all by itself and at one with the way of the warrior, the way of Tao, to be the Kid
Fat Jack and Big Bobby from the alley broke it down on the playground, a jug of bloody fun
Nothing personal, just keepin’ the power in check, rats, ants, boys and girls git the job done.
Conceive everything before you determine whether or not it all is a matter of divine insanity
I think, therefore I have some presuppositions, inductive as well as deductive brain trauma
Finally, skipping to the end of the thought to avoid the ennui of my inner ghost’s live vanity
Meaning this, Truth now, I’m all out of words, question everything, nobody fools yo’ mama!
Last day of sunsets, missin’ struggle and strive for survival, hold onto the bones’ my holy soul
My ghost and your spirit come from the sun, the One and many more than None, got it Jack?
Consequences to the cause and effect of the origin and the final destination, deep hole’s black
Way down to the bottom of the black powder keg, nothing but It, you have It now { } let’s roll!
by
r j j stephan, i { HEADER IS MY MAMA in a Chicago Park District back in 1964 A.D. }
c. June 18th, 2019 A.D. Mardi, @ 12:12 PM PST
{ drafted as I blurred out in a relapse/hangover listenin’ to #WhiskeyGlasses Morganwallen on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/cSN8WpFtdsI }
W.W.A.R.D.?
