Lava lamp liquid levitates between the two orbs
of a prism-colored galaxy, floating through the void.
A rainbow-metallic satellite shakes with heavy bass, like a pastel, neon equalizer, coasting through outerspace.
It’s a space brother dance party, the best club on Orion’s belt,
The Pleiades’ #1 DJ making their impression felt,
the oxygenless sky is filled with good vibes,
acrobatic pop-and-lockers battle with their minds-
headspinning on the ceiling,
telekenetic routines give the crowds good feelings,
Mute-spitters send punchlines through telepathic double meanings,
Party goers smell the music, get caught in a daze,
The drums make the floor shake, shots of flavored gases put a gloss on the third eyes’ gaze.
Funky humanoids floating ’round the dance-mosphere,
Shapes shifters do their best ‘human,’ end on a b-boy pose, ‘Word to Earth!’ becomes the telepathic anthem to cheer,
It’s a welcome-back shindig for the travelers who risked it all in hopes to win big,
Hitting up the best parties on the grooviest planets,
and come back to tell their folk about the natives’ good times, and bad habits.
Adidas-clad humanoids glide down from the ships,
Throwing Earthentic gold ropes to the most telekenetic chicks,
Boomboxes on shoulders drop jaws, open third eyes wide,
The Pleaides’ Mindset Crew stretch their ‘new’ 3 striped track pants after several light years of a ride. – RSM