Death Star Mechanics

I am here. I can’t see with
my hands until I let go of eventual
death star mechanics. Crusty heads pin point
eyes over the land with fingers tapping
everywhere until never-the-less.
Letting go of eyes means feeling everything
finally. Dropping light
is impossible until I find
the right question. Squares are two mirrors.
Voices rounding off the fearful corners
I’m stuck in. Windows that won’t
open and things I can’t buy.
Noises. Dreams.


Note: when I got out of high school I traveled around that summer. I also saw Star Wars 5 times for some reason.

Nothing Inside All!

 

I.        Nothing inside all
        M A T T E R S !
        Not! Inside! All!
        mattering . . .
        this muttering . . .
        a little joke. drama.
    fortuitous inter splicing.
            Anti - carnivorous.
                Sudden houses.
            Steel underwear.
                Blinking
                in the new dark.
        Drivel guided tours
                on television.
            Without an accent.
        Before the end of string.
    Weapons of a million fingers
        simultaneously tapping.
    Headaches, muttering in
meadows under cliffs guarded
by gigantic insects with
sci-fi visions. …received a
pulse, about ten minutes long,
from the center of the earth.
            
II.            Earthlings!
            Earthlings!

    Code for life, understood.
        Stand on your head
        after eating nothing
        for twenty nine
        small minutes.

III.        I’ll have better luck 
with the nextone,
the nextone, 
the nextone. 
This one is 
burned out from the inside. 
It wasn’t a dream. It was the
lack of words at the proper
moment. Only the sound of ______.
    He never had a chance
in the center of the spiral . . . 
His third eye closed before it
could open. Scant days,
mostly nights. Breathe the
air, take air as a drug of
choice. Remember. You still
have a mother and a father.
Somewhere.

IV.     The holding. 
The all - in - one rock 
band with a singer
who remembered but then
forgot the words. They
muttered. The muttering
drove the bass player mad.
Mad with grief. A passing.
Enough mattering to fly.
A crow over the meadow
and into the city to a
certain counter-intuitive
tree. A tree, the wide
river, the oil tanks
oozing, the city and its
sirens. Three nods from
the executioner, who
scratches her temple
absentmindedly. “Never have
we known about this until
you told us,” intoned the
breeze sweetly in the ear
of a flashy beetle, who
had been around the world
twice. “I know you don’t
want to hear this,” goes
the beetle, “but there is
no more human sex. There
is no more feeling in those
moving parts of the planet earth.
Those walking, oozing, and
dripping parts.” Beetle:
“It’s gone, numbed out into
non-existence, no response any
longer. The brain is fried in those
spots. No pleasure anymore.
Sorry for you and all your
descendants! Good luck with
that!”
    Beetle goes on, while casually
munching on a third tasty
leaf: “Dream on, humans!”

    “Electric dreams
            from here on out!”

        and with a wry smile

    “Text me a selfie when
you get nowhere!”

Dissappearing Ink

     Dissapearing ink to write the longest word possible and then discovering the antidote to make the word veiwable to hyphenate any words together and thus create new meanings. Liberatory meanings. Distracting meanings. Nauseating meanings. So we all throw up together into one gigantic cookpot in the sky and the firestoms of climate change cook it all up -no wait, the fire-nados of climate change come together like in that Beatles song and we imagine that John Lennon was never shot dead and Yoko Ono's heart was never broken so,        and . . .      well, I won't go on . . . 

Little Hugh finds the RAGE!!?!

 Saturday 1/10 RAGE!!
-little Hugh finds the RAGE!!

Afraid to solo
but when I’m older than everyone else
    no one tells me shit
        i should know
and then its all over
    before its begun.

    Time doesn’t know
        about yesterday or tomorrow
    while dust gathers
            cars smash cars
    my parents live on and on
        thank Goddess!

How to rub shoulders?
    Ignoring the deeper truths.
        Studying life. Not anger.
            Rage ! ! !
                Not RAGE
                    Not RAGE
                        again!?

    What thoughts of freedom
are going through you, of
    life freedom!? Not
        death freedom!!
            Its all about being
        a Good boy, isn’t it?
    Deserve no spanking
            no incarceration
        no eviction
        no dry time
    dry out drunk.
It takes once-again-time
Once-again-time for any
    alcoholic they wish they
were a coffee-holic. (Still
a danger to themselves and others
but in a different area.)
        And no one wants
            to know not
        even Jesus Christ
            All-mighty the
                one
                and
                only
                savior
                of
                HELL.
        The savior of hell…

I wish someone else kept
    -my bank for me.
    -all lists for me.
    -all my dreams in a
        notebook I could read
        at my leisure when
        I get to heaven.
(and let it be known, my
    heaven is electro-acoustic.)
Digital hell mixup.
Analogue electro-acoustic
    nonsense heaven.

My suggestion:

Record each piece
    three times
    AND WITH a guest
            star.

thereby showing the 
        malleability.

        the draconian
                    malleability.

    And so you see, older Hugh,
there’s a target on your back. You
can go from the black dot to the
laser light red dot. I mean,
you’ll never actually SEE it,
    for real, the actual real glow
        of the laser light
            on your back
    
            (you are allowed to
                feel it
            just as Mama Earth
        feels the distant glow of Daughter 
Moon as she slides round
        her endlessly wide belly
    pulling tides and all glory!)

The laser red light of RAGE!
            In the night, RAGE!
            In the day, RAGE!
            All the money, RAGE!
            All the sorrows and
                    griefs in their arms,
                        RAGE!!

All the drippy dreams,
        the woo-woo wisdom
            of all the poets,
                    RAGE!

        Melting.
                The acid rain washing
                        Machine.

 Only the fighters
                    need comfort.