Space Christals
bagpipes, gunfire & candy bar machines in space
This is the title poem from my new volume Space Christals : how i learned to ignore the ticking and love the bomb by Agnew T. (Goldwater) Pickens, now available on Amazon.
5Pac3 ChrisTa15
On CrY-5t.MaSS mOrn1nG
DaV1D cOm3s WaGginG 4Cro5s
to eAt tEh SpAc3 PumPk1n Ba1t
A5 1 Mine 5yNtHeTiC B4cT3riA Chr15tals
iN mY PsyCh3deLiC 5Pac3 Su1t
F0r a s1M(u)l4T3d 5aNtA C14Us
bl0wIng bAgP1p3s aT 5 AM
On Teh DarK s1De of sUnSpoT
24/7/11/365.
PaR4D153 l2 is aWfU11y C0ld
wiThout t3H BurNinG f05-S0(u)L5
La t3a Da
0H Shit!
T3h c4NdY bAr mAch1ne
in t3h 5paCe f1ll1Ng staTi0n
1s oN Teh FriTz AG41N!
CoNteXt(u)a1itY qU3U3es aBounD
tEh LiMiTs 0f T3H 1MagInAt1i0N.
gAwd i5 0n Su1CiDe W4tcH
f0r teH 1aSt RuN oF tEh DaY
M0tH3r dE4Th is F3cuNd W1tH Po5siBb1liTieS BTW
Spr1nkLe m0r3 All4H ChR15tals
0n teh C0rNf1ak3s on teh Fr0nT14wN.
t3h VaCuUM ha5 a CraCk 1n iT AgAin
1t f3elS jU5t 1ikE a Tr4CtoR tRa1l0r
ruNninG tHro(u)gH y0uR h3aD.
1eT uS M4k3 tIme t0 aPp14Ud teh S0uNd
oF d1St4nT g(un)Fir3 1n TeH CaTh3(t3r)dR4l
d1nG D0Ng
L3t tH3rE bE Pe4S 0n 3aRtH!
DiNg donG!
leT TheR3 B3 p3as oN e4rTh
dInG DonG!
13t tHER3 b3 P34S 0N 34RTH!
FI-NI-TE!
Transcription and commentary
Space Christals
on christmas morning
David comes wagging across
to eat the space Pumpkin bait
(David is a Golden retriever that lives across the street & Pumpkin is a cat)
as i mine synthetic bacteria christals
in my psychedelic space suit
for a simulated Santa Claus
blowing bagpipes at 5 AM
(flashback memory of a bagpiper on the streets of New York City who i dropped $5 to 17 years ago)
on the darkside of sunspot
24/7/11/365
(i imagine that their are beings who regularly harvest synthetic bacteria christals behind sunspots)
Paradise 12 is awfully cold
without the burning fossils(souls)
la ti da
oh shit!
the candy bar machine
in the space filling station
is on the fritz again!
(returning from the sunspot with synthetic bacteria for the home planet, i make my usual stop to refuel and snack)
contextuality queues abound
the limits of the imagination
(c.f. contextuality cues in linguistics)
God is on suicide watch
for the last run of the day
Mother Death is fecund with possibilities by the way
sprinkle more Allah christals
on the cornflakes on the front lawn
(i see ice cubes poured in the grass of a fast food restaurant and imagine them to be Allah crystals)
the vacuum has a crack in it again
it feels just like a tractor trailer
running through your head
let us make time to applaud
the sound of distant gunfire in the cathe(ter)dral
ding dong!
let there be peas(peace) on Earth
ding dong!
let there be peas on Earth
ding dong!
let there be peas on Earth
fi-ni-te
agnewpickens 