SMELLING THE SAME OLD ROSES PT 2

when the 

  busted world

    is bluffing it out

i reread 

  my picture books 

    my stack of richard stark

i rewatch 

  aliens & hitchcock

    90s thrillers 90 minutes long

smelling 

  the comfort roses

in the

  memory bouquet 

FICTION POP 6 PEACE AND BAD TIMING

there is peace on earth
basically achieved thru music
( yes i know ! )

all the nations launch their nukes into space
obviously no one needs them anymore
even israel
( yes i know ! )

for five months the sky is like fireworks
all other weapons are melted down too
everyone builds ambulances with the iron
everyone builds windfarms with the steel

almost by osmosis everyone is sheltered and fed
everyone has water

nasa collects all the gunpowder
nasa collects all the grenades
nasa announces a bulletship to mars
nasa announces mars to be a waystation
to united peaceful and awesome exploration

due to cosmic coincidence
three alien races are approaching

one is the last of its kind
frieghting galactic knowledge
in a container tanker of answers

one is a young pioneer
best described as a multideminsional escapee
in a kind of pimped space hotrod

they are quickly destroyed
in our careless riot of peace
( yes i know ! )

the third alien is best described as a computer
it extrapolates its own destruction
it decides to err on the side of caution
and launches an eye for an eye reaction

tho ignorant of these spaceside events
we do all die happy and hopeful

hal 9000 from 2001 a space odyssey 

MEDLEY OF DREAMS

1

  i 
  am 
han solo
but
thinner / effeminate
and
i
find
miniature face-hugger aliens

pale and pink

in 
the 
drinking water


2

my desk is out on the front drive

i fiddle with a big spliff

scared to light it / too early

and
gone
faces
from
gone
jobs
ask me my passwords
and
say

  why 
  do i encrypt anything at all ?


3

heavy bags weigh me down

lost ID preys on my mind

and
cocaine in a crisp bag
on 
the 
top 
deck
of
the 
number 154
is 
caught in the wind
always 
just out of reach

      and
    i
  am

  almost almost almost

    nearly

      in
    control

ALIENS/ANGELS AND THE ARTIST

the artist didnt know who they were but he called them.
everything was done.
he was due his payday.
he called them, the angels/aliens, whoever, and they came to see.
he'd met them, well it was weird.
enough to say he met them.
their taste in art was expansive and he had an idea.
he had technology too. 
physics was his slave and the angels/aliens had promised him Paradise Now.
the artist went to work.
he froze the earth.
or rather he froze all the things that make up time.
or rather he slowed them down.
a lot.
weather cycles, metabolisms, chemical interactions.
slowed done.
a lot.
so it looked like the earth was frozen.
he created a still three dimensional living diorama of everything on earth.
the couples in bed frozen at the moments of conception.
the criminals trapped guilty in a still orgy of evidence.
rockets firing with frozen flame.
in hospitals and retirement homes the instant of death captured.
all it.
all you can think of.
the fairytale moments with kids in the sun with drifting blossom.
the moments minds were lost and hearts broken.
car crashes and tumbling planes.
the miracles and the mundane.
he'd dome it.
he called it Earth.
and the artist called them and they came to see.
they were pleased.
Paradise Now he asked?
Paradise Now they said.
they put the artist on the moon in a glass room of money.
there was a plaque that said Artist and his name down by his shoes.
the angels/aliens renamed the work Losers.
they brought all their school children to see.
then they moved on.