Once there was a tiny shack with a tiny chimney
that puffed out a tiny puff of smoke
from a tiny fire
made of tiny logs,
and lit with tiny matches
by tiny people who were exactly the same size as you and I.
It sat in the middle of the desert. Not the exact middle, but near there.
About twenty minutes by car.
It sat in the middle of A Very Large Array. A very large array of what, you might ask.
Dishes, ma'am. Dishes.
Big, white government-issued saucers
their slanted bowls stretched on angled necks, craning towards the stars,
stealing vibrations out of the sky.
Hot Spy Channel Jazz.
Waves of information.
All being broadcast
directly into the corporeal,
flesh and blood being
Lula Del Ray.