"The Alien" by Greg Delanty

The Alien
by Greg Delanty

I’m back again scrutinizing the Milky Way           
    of your ultrasound, scanning the dark                                                                 
        matter, the nothingness, that now the heads say           
   is chockablock with quarks and squarks,
gravitons and gravatini, photons and photinos. Our sprout,   

who art there inside the spacecraft                
    of your Ma, the time capsule of this printout,                
        hurling and whirling towards us, it’s all daft           
   on this earth. Our alien who art in the heavens,
our Martian, our little green man, we’re anxious     

to make contact, to ask divers questions           
     about the heavendom you hail from, to discuss                     
         the whole shebang of the beginning and end,           
    the pre-big bang untime before you forget the why
and lie of thy first place. And, our friend, 

to say Welcome, that we mean no harm, we’d die              
    for you even, that we pray you’re not here                     
       to subdue us, that we’d put away           
   our ray guns, missiles, attitude and share
our world with you, little big head, if only you stay.

Read, listen, share, create, and be on watch.