"The D. J. Speaks"
“O.K. imps, snot-freaks, pill-elves,
hi-fi fairy-fury flipsters and intelligences,
its out, all out now onto the rooftops—
Your only chance left now
is to come out here into the naked star-fright
and freak it out alone.
Yes, out until it’s scared the living
Fainlights out of you;
jumping you out of your star-split wits
and back into your sprite mind.
Released in your new fledged
above the cities of the West—
Luftpost TV antennae-quivering falconries suddenly
checking in the new-alerted starlight as you realize
some fresh gleaming ledge of intelligence
on which to alight.
—Was it witch I said then?
Yes, witch-kids, witch-kids,
riding out on your broomstick wavebands
night after night.
Behind their mumbo-jumboing
guitars, each group
another coven of them—
shrieking the bisexual superhet electronic
guts out of them coast to coast and trans—
atlantic and all the way back round again and
again and again—the hair of those trance
atlantic telephonists left
crackling behind them.
And then up—
up and round the whole Van Allen belt and back
tingling with ions!
—The whole billion brain-valved telepathic wavelength left
blasted behind them.
And then finally off—
off blowing that long cool solo out into space you never
want to come back from but must,
must for this final chorus when the whole heavy
nuclear combo starts laying it down—
blasting the dumb-ox blockbusters out of
your old conventional consciousness—
you think this is just some little
railway sidings halloween or something?
No baby, this is the real H-bomb witch stuff
flying around in here tonight
so just you mind your spooks and cues
and smile, SMILE
cause you know this is only
that little D.J. joke your D.J. daddy’s
been having with you all this while.
You know, that old saggy god story
about how this week again
‘The Eve of Destruction’
will be going like a Bomb.”