by Stephen Jarrell Williams
Starships in the sky coming for
running like dogs hanging our tongues,
heads bowed to the ground.
They're announcing down to us
of their return.
They spit us into existence centuries ago,
wanting to help us purge ourselves
with their veggie ray and pimple popper.
I haven't seen them yet, but I
they're smiling with too many teeth,
big lizard eyes, hidden tails under their capes.
we'll never have to work again,
just sit around the pool with a Pepsi.
All this time they've been away,
letting us stir our own pot of bones
past the boiling point.
Many of us stopping, looking up
for a reward.
But I don't believe
I keep running into the woods
smelling the opening
assholes of their ships.
© 2010 Stephen
Jarrell Williams has been called "The Poet of Doom," "A Voice in the
Wilderness," and "A Minstrel for Love." He was born in Fort Belvoir,
Virginia. His parents are native Texans. He has lived most of his life
in California. His poetry has appeared in Aoife's Kiss, Aphelion,
Collar Review, The Broome Review, Camroc Press Review, Censored Poets,
Chronogram Magazine, Deuce Coupe, Fissure Magazine, Freefall, Haight
Ashbury Literary Journal, Hawaii Review, Heroin Love Songs, Hungur, Is
This Reality, Kalkion, Liquid Imagination, Mad Swirl, Metazen, Mirror
Dance, Neonbeam, Nerve Cowboy, Nomad's Choir, POEM, Poesia, Posey,
protestpoems.org, Purpose, REAL, Rusty Truck, Scifaikuest, Sex And
Murder, Shoots And Vines, Tales from the Moonlit Path, Thieves Jargon,
Zygote In My Coffee, and others.
Find more by Stephen Jarrell Williams in the Author Index.
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