Deathstare pilot haiku

Trap door eraser
a constant flow of the hum
who gives a flying

moths in the window
trying to get in the house
little winged people

black box halo cut
in and out of reach the night
exudes around scales

they swarm the windows
desperate for the light inside
cling to the cold glass

could do anything
the gravity of it all
leg pretzel cosmos

repeat no stop here
purple flashing window pane
nothin’ else I need

you hear a loud bang
what the fucking shit was that
deep in the forest

the coconut oil
makes the butter stronger so
musical night time

then it starts to snow
again and it sinks deeper
a whirlwind of ice

oak tree bacillus
thuringiensis they will
throw up and die soon

the moths don’t really
know what they want they’re just like
automatic folks

the bright lights the heat
they feel it all orgasmic
can’t keep my eyes ope

then I’m on a plane
and it’s flying upside down
right above the sea

does he really have
to fucking do it like that
crash into static

24 thoughts on “Deathstare pilot haiku

  1. progbeawr831

    This is such a Hunter S. Thompson moment; the brash honesty, the entire movement from the very chair you sit in to the the fact that I’m listening to someone flail about with a theremin rod and a guitar right now encapsulates the entire process divinely.

  2. jacksjottings

    Thought I would return your visit.
    May be I need to spend more time with you young people.
    I think the moths are crazy, who wants to watch the box.
    Or is it I miss the music of the 60s the cacti and grass.
    You tell me,who give a shovel full, for my crap. _/\_


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