NEVER FORGET the PRICE TO PAY MR POE, punk SAINT OF assassins
pumpin’ STAIn
There’s no Time like the Present otherwise we’d be able to be present in the Future’s fake Past of dicks Just like the fish-face Fake News, y’all know that I’m takin’ it to the bank, gone shotguns, knives & 30:06
I can’t be held responsible for the actions of all humans on Earth, past, present & future, yet I am the fix
Junction of the unknown with what I know, which is nothing at all, I’m here at the crossroad of the dicks.
Left out of the Loop downtown Chicago, born on the Midway between the temples, mosques & churches
Of my relatives, their foreign neighbors, friends and mates for life or just a little while, just as do leaches
When the blood is dried up, it’s onto another host to mass produce the scab scat, filling the Space with It
All of the rest of the universe other than my skin and bone is all in my mind, that’s all folks, an Id psyche.
From infant to musician, magician, philosopher and the corpse in the box up at the front of the room
Makin’ fun and crackin’ jokes about the memory of the dead and gone, memories of the slicing blades
Dogs and human riff-raff ran ahead and behind me, my daughters never got here, they got out of doom
Plenty to have gone around if they’d have arrived, late but still a gift from the good God above in Hades.
Finks and the bums near the railroad tracks and bus depots were cool when they graduated high schools
Then this life made them work for men who refused to pay them forever for doing nothing, gonad fools
Came from a spurt of organic muster, to be or not to be wasn’t a question then, it was just holy scat cats
From heaven or hell, above or below, here or beyond the perception of humanity, game over & I’m out!
I found out that there was a price to pay for being the oldest knife in the cutlery collection of monkeys
Crossed the bones, skinned the skull to expose the holes in arguments that came out of skin-bone buns
Precious love of the children borne from woman loins, blood of the unsaved placenta are skeleton keys
Fixed in exact sequential order of country grammar, southern Mississippi got down on the Chit-own guns.
Jizz of the jazz goin’ and comin’ up and down the scales of eights & dressed to the nines, mercy me fan
Blinded by the light of the starry sun, shouldn’t have stared into its black hole, it remained in the pan
Fried catfish and gumbo to keep my skin and bones high and mighty, sheltered & fruit of the loom too
Young and dumb, older, wise, for real there’s an imaginary riverbed, you rolled over on my blues, fool.
You wanted to be loved by me, I wanted to love you too but I didn’t need anybody’s love, heart soaked
So call me when you nee to ease the pain of bein’ broken, lost your dad, it all went up in smoke I toked
You need to stay away from me and my scat I collected way before I knew you existed here and now too
Long, lonely road but my back’s mighty strong since my debts are mostly all paid, the Ends, cosmic stew.
Caring or not giving the hoot of smokin’ the crack on the street, think you’re Jesse James breakin’ safes
Y’all get murdered rat snitchin’ to the Man, all too human it had to be, you & I know all about it, do tell
All of the good, bad, ugly and the goddam funny scat that passes for humor is the almighty’s dumb bell
Money drip out pockets off the corners of the block, breakin’ promises until the end, lookin’ it in the eye.
Recording of the same old song, it remained the same as it has always been, so above and so below, so?
Apes moved until they stopped, ate the matter to excrete it into the ether’s dead bones of the dead seas
I knew nothing & it’s still the same, yes, she kissed me softly & held me closely, stoned sober, hot coffee
Drank her up until I was full of a sinking junky fix, had to have more, all of it too, was my final low blow.
Why you smelled like flowers, sweet I had to get closer, and you backed off of me, no sugar tonight for it
My baby mojo worked the magic, it moved slowly but the molasses came in last but the best of all’s chit
Monkeys got no gods like humans do, white trash and the black Moore-type warrior blood merged DNA
Complete pi, 3.14 until the day we die, swear to God, the truth is, mouth’s gapin’ wide-open, ph’qqn ‘A’!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Vendredi, ROCKTOBER XXVIIth MMXXIII Anno Domini @ 333 AMPST{ Drafted while jammin’ to @EVERLAST #HITS link @ https://youtu.be/gqS4oVDkqaU }
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
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