poets don't write about ufo's
Posted: January 25th, 2017, 12:02 am
I know I saw something in the night sky in 67'
that could be called a ufo, it sat stationary
it did not have lights and zoom away
at speeds that could not be a jet
it just hung there like a dark long object
I do not think I ever saw a flying saucer
but when I began being a poet
I was always looking for strange objects
but now I was looking for them
in poems, I was looking for words
that appeared like strange objects
one of my early poems was like a weird artifact
after it was published in a local alternate paper
it seemed like my life was abducted in a sense
the poem was like a ufo in words, a ufp
unidentified flying poem
that poem flew off, and I was always trying
to remember what was going through my mind
the night I wrote it
now it seems to like I was channeling
a kind of prophetic view of something like
from the fall of Atlantis, to the discovery
of the real meaning of the mystery of Egypt today
with the Hopi prophecy tossed in added to
the revery of a bohemian poet of the street on a
San Francisco bus
reading a poem he just wrote, and things
happen like in the poem, and he thinks the wind
blew the words across the page, and the page turns
and universe shines through,and for a moment
the memories of ten thousand lifetimes floods through
and I'm sitting in a revolving object star ship
then I'm back on the market street bus again
that could be called a ufo, it sat stationary
it did not have lights and zoom away
at speeds that could not be a jet
it just hung there like a dark long object
I do not think I ever saw a flying saucer
but when I began being a poet
I was always looking for strange objects
but now I was looking for them
in poems, I was looking for words
that appeared like strange objects
one of my early poems was like a weird artifact
after it was published in a local alternate paper
it seemed like my life was abducted in a sense
the poem was like a ufo in words, a ufp
unidentified flying poem
that poem flew off, and I was always trying
to remember what was going through my mind
the night I wrote it
now it seems to like I was channeling
a kind of prophetic view of something like
from the fall of Atlantis, to the discovery
of the real meaning of the mystery of Egypt today
with the Hopi prophecy tossed in added to
the revery of a bohemian poet of the street on a
San Francisco bus
reading a poem he just wrote, and things
happen like in the poem, and he thinks the wind
blew the words across the page, and the page turns
and universe shines through,and for a moment
the memories of ten thousand lifetimes floods through
and I'm sitting in a revolving object star ship
then I'm back on the market street bus again
