The experience of X
©1995 Arlen Lazaroff
FROZEN ZEN COUNTDOWN
©1994 Arlen Lazaroff
pot-head farmer who grew all his own stuff
very large donation to the Vietnam Veterans Nation
one pumping fuel at the corner station
gave him visions of flag patterned plastic bags
green stuff from money trees
the one selling insurance at Security Mutual Life
gave him a new lease on oil wells in Mentone
throbbing heart of Loving county, Texas)
agreed the phone tree
devised to give rise to Ma Bell
two dixie cups with a string
the two touch-tone Siamese twins
end of the paint covered globe to the other
that giant can of red enamel labeled "Cover the Earth"
as a menace from the communist east
according to the almanac of the John Birch Society
goo would separate us from Christian piety.
pity for Tibetan monks in cloudless basement cities.
for spacemen earthed by jealous princess Circe
women with short haircuts and combat overalls
on white men's homes
acid heads who rot their flesh in technicolor dreams
liberals to shake their heads and conservatives to scream.
squashed flat in the middle of the road
a whiter stripe
who deny their god a column in the Daily Gripe.
for Frozen Zen Countdown
bombs don't drop
go up in hyperspace
Hindenburg von Zeppelin considered this phenomenon
of all we were taught
told academics the epidemic
should be stopped
Anita of Florida's long lost campaign
that acid rain
punishment for men loving men
to men hating men,
they could really see the difference)
the latest conservative radio spokesman
Orange 321's advertising job
the goddess would appease the god
of two gods getting together and making thunder
it was assumed she'd really like the jingle
would raise her estrogen level.
all those baby gods
to take the bus to freedom school
the nurse dispenses condoms
daily cartons of orange juice
give way to recitations
hit girls and the reverse is also true.
learn to share our toys
nice in the cosmic sandbox.
for Frozen Zen Countdown.
of juice don't mix in the blender.
on the highway splatters your fender.
pot-head farmer who grew all his own snuff
so hard he shook the phones
the trees on the planet.
every highway telephone poles grew in T shapes
strung together with lines
which frantic communication
the red and orange paint
and lawns of every nation
the sweat of war
wet on the memory of all the vets
in the annual plastic bag fund drive
like bombs on mushroomed fields
flared up one by one
how's the puppet business?"
for Frozen Zen Countdown
on the roofs of our heads.
and cover from the bombs under school desks and beds.
if we think good thoughts the bad will go away.
Zen Countdown will eliminate
for Judgement Day.