HW: Poem

[Chuck Rosenberg]

Okay, I'm drunk, I will admit that first, and ya'll can fire cheese and
flames on me, if ye wish, or oust me from the ranks, but listening to
Stasis and Turner stuff tonight (Brainbox Pollution and Opa-Loka 2000), I
had a poem and I wanted to share and certainly these are the only people
who could appreciate it (or ridicule it) in the slightest, so... I'm sure
I'll regret this tomorrow.


Nik Turner on a mountain
with his elbows to the wind
piping on his blasphemous sax
rejected by the Gods
This is a vision of Space Rock,
Natch, and it sustains me,
and, by the way, this is the
only thing that was as impossible
as the Giant Moon one night,
Nik's Henchment firing off
potent illusions, unlikelihoods of
sound, "returning volumes of
sound", like those bouncing off of
the nearest mountain side, brown
and harboring crystals indifferent to
the sky,
The Space might never hear
Hawkwind's heartfelt, but
possibly misfired, lament for it



Charlie