To the planet called Earth
And its so called overseers:
We are your distant neighbor
From a far-flung star
A thousand times greater than yours.

We don't come in peace.
Certainly, you may think
That your intergalactic
Space bound expeditions
Got us all figured out.

Your futile exploits
Gave you but an idea
That might turn out to be
A million light years away
From such a prized truth.

But we know everything
About your infant planet.
Your warm-blooded race
The silly thing you call Science
And your many weakness.

We have been here all along
Since the ancient times.
Your ancestors offered megaliths
And long tried to build relations.
But we were never pleased.

Your intelligence, though much inferior
Made us believe you are prepared enough
To decode encrypted messages on crop circles.
But even so with your best technology
You have failed us once again.

Humans! Take heed to the signs
And the warnings of our coming.
We have waited long enough
And gave you time to hone your potential
Only to find you stuck in your own maze.

You call us aliens, those big headed monsters
That you amuse yourself  in your movies.
But you are the strangest kind of life
That our probes have ever studied.
Your saga shall be recorded well.

burst to the slow summit of motorways at dawn
there's a freedom here
golden sun off blinding laurel bridges
people with no need to rise so early
no greater need than you
do you ever think it
when you're going so fast
do you ever think that you could die
do you ever will the combustions
and metals that carry you
to meet their absurd shadows
stretched out before them
faster than you, but getting shorter
and getting slower
roll away the glass
embrace the roar
magnify it
and feel the chill that is not.
the light washes the trees of who they are
the avenues of salute
from obsolete lamps
that draw you into these little cities
whose peoples are the steel and the concrete
whose bridges are megaliths
that ancient whispers foresaw
cutting brilliantly through seafoam wheat
my mother always looked at me peculiarly
but, god! - she tried
i fall to reality with the rising sun
but not of loosening night
simply of greeting stasis
anaemic-light-tunnels
built in visions of what the future used to be
false days in darkening motion
that make the tundras seem so small
and marries the hue of beauty, of brutality
here, upon a hill, something red-brick
there, beyond the mist, something stone
perhaps a church
i care not
the age of the concrete speaks to me
the distances wrap around me

These dreams of ruins
won’t let me sleep at nights
I often find myself surrounded by wrecked walls
as if I may have lived the lives of a thousand knights

Walls that once would have been so proud
stood there marvellously and astonished the crowd
But now they stand in the forms of shaky megaliths
making me wonder by what force of evil they got ploughed
I try to imagine the unending suffering it must have brought
Moments ago I could hear a few whimpers
but I can tell you now, they were actually screeches
since everything is ever so clear and loud

I tell myself, I can’t stand this dreadful sight
so I turn around, trying to look away with all my might
I even try to look at the ground,
attempting to forget this vicious game of thrones

but look! What tricks this brain plays
still tries to disrupt my gaze
I SO want to get away
but it confronts me in all my ways
Shows me more wrecked walls
not letting me, yet making me want to run away
and finally, I do wake up! But the memory stays ...

The future holds no present past and I'm licking at my own wounds wondering how fast the tongue in my mouth can get and last because the hour is high and the minutes are ticking and the roads are crumbling as the oil is leaking on the fire that my mother, oh my mother said she was the one with the gun and she never had any fun and I wear my pain on shoulder that are dimly clothed, and lit, because the soul inside of me is unable to fit in a world of degredation and money and corruption and liars and rat finks because the gypsies that were slain on the seventh day have their memories lifted and taken away much like my love for a girl taht said she could no longer and sharing is no longer caring because it carries a secret price, a secret weight for the hour, yes this hour, is fleeting away on ships of brass and gold and high beasts that roar with the high velocity of ten thousand dieing moors with Buddhas breaking bread with the bet of the sand men where the motorcycles shift from second to third as if the whole entire world around them is dying, lo and behold screamed the one about to hang from the hallows, these are trying times with trying people and as I type away fast their may be a meteor above our head flying down at last, and the breaking dawn, with all its glory and shimmer, makes me feel the faint whisper of a beggar evaporating into walls that they will not be seen, they will be forgotten, much like the minds that they think they will beat and treat and deal solely with the machines, the man mad megaliths that take away our souls and make them their own, for the power chord, with all of its discord is a thing of the future, a dream that became reality, a third coming of a Jesus that wasn't there but needed not to be seen, only heard, only to be remembered and held safely by the God given rosaries but there is still more to tell from the mind of a man lost in the sands of hallow sand for the rhyming coupelets that I never learned, only read and heard take me fast away from this burning land where saints hang from trees and supposed angels go for a smoke break, exhausting themselves much like a once elegant book upon the shelves, and where I see old men others see young men and where I see dead beauties others see budding cities with fog plumes of broken jokes ringing madly across a horizon that is neither white nor black, and the sheets which are dirtied carry secrets that no son or daughter will every truly hear, for the hour is getting late and the dates I made with a mate will be broken for my own crumbling dreams, with men in their cities and women in their cities all sitting pretty and looking busy, and the ambition that all of us feel and few ever step out and reel make me see faces that are filled with sorry, a sympathy that is hard to swallow for it is the size of a grapefruit like basket ball, a man that is always too tall, a foreigner beaten to death for the way he carries his rake, a blister on a face that was once glorified in the papers burns itself to death as a martyr for an unknown race, a race to the gates that swing wildly in the wintery sun and burns like a flare shooting from the sun, but the hour is getting late oh lord, the hour is getting late, and the only reason I call your name is because I must feel something larger then these four walls, filled with white paint, and I must see a grander arena to keep my mind off the luring and diabolical and ego obsessed snakes that slither through tall grass, pen in hand, recorder in mind, thinking thinking thinking that this will be the one that will set them free, this will be my beautious, magnificent, transcendent, apalling, jaw dropping, *******, fattening, eye opening, soul reviving, trench diving, appealing, commercially upheaving master piece

His smile is easy like the sun rising in the east,
It showers its plains and fields in radiating light.
Wild flowers rise from the ground to bask in his glow,
Turning their faces toward this magnificent sight.
His eyes glisten, windows to this wonderful place,
Through them the marvels of the world beam out.
Towering megaliths of strength exist within him,
Beauty in his world without a shadow of doubt.

Across heather, peat, grey North Sea - the sun
Witnessed through eyes that give sleep to the hand
Attempts war with the clouds yet still not done
Driving the showers beyond the headland
Many miles distant from this hilltop view
Where the megaliths and cairns of grey stone
Lie moss-covered - now visited by few
Other than those whose blood, life, soul and bone
Were interred here in millennia past
So that I before a cathedral sky
A solar fireball can see at last
God-like rise up, burst out and shine through. Why?
  Draw near to me now and this burning sphere
  My hands on your *******, you can feel it here.

The boy threw up on the way to school,
Regularly,
A matter of course,
Compass-setting.
The stink of decomposing plankton
Would rise into his blowholes,
And make his bright eyes water,
Make the sidewalk swim.
His almost hairless body, half-formed,
Wet cetacean eyes casting about,
Sought protection, not ritual heaves,
Not emesis on neighborhood lawns.

His mother protected him when she could,
Let him swim in her shadow,
Helped him feed, hid him
When she herself was not in danger,
The denouncéd *****, the common ****,
The bright-eyed nurse.

He scraped his way along the sidewalks
Thinking six times nine, four times three,
Thinking bile-tinged thoughts.
He thought of the school cafeteria, steaming,
Waiting, windows fogged,
A place that sometimes had no food for whales.
He thought of home and crashing waves,
The leaping thrashing father,
Up, up into bright air,
Leaping high and falling back into the sea,
Killing what lay below him,
Denouncing the *****.

He wondered how it could be
That at home only she loved him,
Only his mother,
While at school many, many loved him.
Even the ladies in the cafeteria,
Even on the days
When there was no food for whales.

He thought of children, tiered and glowing,
Standing on stair steps reaching
All the way to heaven,
Reaching so high the air was thin and shimmering
Where the oldest stood, singing,
Singing in the school's foyer,
Singing Oh, little town,
Singing with no fear of megaliths
Falling, white-crusted, waves driven asunder,
Gulls sent screaming,
Their wingtips slapping foam.

He thought of his teacher who loved him,
Who loved his gray skin,
His smooth gray skin,
Who gave him stamps and stars.
At night, rising to breathe,
He saw her stars among the stars,
Her stamped cat shapes upon the constellations.
At night, rising to breathe,
He knew he wanted to live in school,
Wanted to breathe the dust of tempera paints
And construction paper forever,
Far from falling fear,
Far from barnacled screams.
He knew he wanted to live, and live, and live,
Without bile, without flukes,
Beyond the horizon, among the stars.

My head cracks open
and spills onto tables at least
three times a week,
so please stop being nervous.

Cut to compatibility unencumbered
by the noose of proxy acceptance.

That is an example of my yolk
sizzling so, again, chill out.

Oh, what megaliths we can dismantle
now that all the walls are dust.

Jumping the gun, as usual.