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!”