GENESIS OF THE FLYING HEAD Poem by Viktor Neborak

(a show in verse)

II. UFO

We called the landing boat "C-ATAS-TROPHE"—
all patched up with rubber, any second we'll sink.
But we have lungs. Healthy blood holds us,
and our excrement makes us light.

We set off sometime long ago at the height of summer.
And since that time could care less about time.
The paths are clear to all epochs and times.
The "ATAS"* in the name glows red!

We were tourists then, but now we're higher beings!
The cosmic dimension swallowed us right from the waves.
And even though the wind menacingly whistles
From the patched up holes — our motor is still a flying saucer!

A purple streak has lit the sky.
Witnesses dumbstruck in awe.
A sensation! A flying saucer! A catastrophe!
... It's still the question of — who was watching whom