the assembly

the army i will raise will have no guns.

they may have helmets, but the tomatoes we'll get pitched at us will get through.

'better get goggles on' i'll say, as i marshall them.

then, we will congregate.

one hand cobtrols the dials,

the other, hovers between the vertical and horizontal antennea.

the mummies from planet Fezvillon will stop dead in their place, and become unravelled, then their grey ash will blow in the wind.

Fezvillonians can't stand theramins.