roar

she is the Queen of Babylon
on her Harley Softail Deluxe
streaking up the entrance ramp
OH SHIT !
she’s got a leak in her backpack,
now all the glitter & the champagne are spritzing out all over
the bubbly highway as she rides

what a goofy,magnificent matriarch of motion & mess she is,
elevated,imitated but never truly emulated
there is nobody anywhere that can do like she does

like scooping 20 kids up from Our Lady of Good Hope Orphanage
on Sunday afternoon & driving them all to the zoo
then stalling their school bus on the railroad tracks,
then pushing it bare handed all by herself out of harm’s way
in just the nick of time -close call !

but that’s not all
she’s way more than streetwise down any path that she strides
always recognizing & avoiding the deception of Wall Street
& the babble on Pennsylvania Avenue,
never blinded by the glare of True Knowledge
that so many times renders the seeker
lost in the shuffle & stumbling behind

make no mistake,this is a Queen that knows what it means
to keep a lid on inclinations toward immortality
her machine roars not purrs,propels her,compels her
to launch & flaunt her blast into the occult stratosphere