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A poem about Aliens

July 9, 2011 Leave a comment

Here is a terrible poem that I wrote about Aliens. Please feel free to peruse my other terrible poetry about zombies and Alfred the butler.

  • “The Meaning of Love”

  • In truth, I was often homesick
    Though I never left home
    And I was often lonesome
    In crowds
    Inside me some key that could never be turned
    A spring unwinding slowly unto death
    I thought, but maybe everyone feels like this
    This is what it means to be alive

  • When I saw her I knew she was the answer
    To the question for which I had never found words
    Iron and salt and sweet stench of home
    Inside me, the vestigial twitched to life
    And a small, secret mouth opened to sing

  • I could fit into you
    Like clockwork
    Coiled helplessly
    Barbs sheathed
    by your lullaby croon
    Every heartbeat
    Every pulse of your veins
    Things shared by only us

  • Inside my heart
    There is a box
    There is a machine
    That ticks like anything
    That hums like the universe
    Expanding
    Like the breath in your lungs,
    And the lymph in your throat
    And my teeth, and my claws, my acid blood

  • The black box will fail; it always does
    But I remember you
    This is what it means to be in love.

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    August 9, 2005 2 comments

    I had a dream last night that the alien facehugger eggs were in the room with me. I kept running through scenarios, trying to avoid being impregnated and subsequently undergoing the whole chestbursting thing. Considered pre-chestbursting suicide as in Alien3, more to avert being violently ripped apart from the inside out than to save the human race. Sadly, we do not keep tanks of molten metal in the apartment. I suppose I could drink a lot of gin.

    Oh, and I can’t actually see any of your comments on this blog – I can read them as they’re e-mailed, but the actual “comments” page keeps showing up blank, or weird. I can probably figure a way around this on my own, but I am lazy.

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