1970s Spasm Poem by Hans Ostrom

Hey, man- hey, you net-box jumper
and rainbow-thumper. I'm seeing
albums raining down without their
covers. I mean thousands
of black albums coming on in
like swarthy, thin UFOs. ('It
just means it's unidentified,
okay? You need to fucking
lay back, man.') And I see now
the complex map of my life
is being etched by a diamond
needle, digging into undulant
vinyl, shined on by blue
lava-light. Hey, play the
other side, play the other
side, hey play- oh, okay,
cool. (It's getting cold.)
Nice tuner! I need a beer.


hans ostrom 2013