The first alien life may not come from the stars, but from
ourselves. —Alan H. Goldstein
Sly, hidden, rubbing elbows in the stew,
we’ve passed your tongue and tear around your brain
like termites in a mound. A bluish goo,
sly, hidden, and digested with the stew,
we’ve cloned ourselves and changed you through and through.
“What’s wrong?” your friends will ask. You can’t explain
what, hidden, rubbing elbows in the stew,
has passed your tongue, and tears now round your brain.
The Creatures of the Night
The creatures of the night move past the snow
of slumber. As they slither, prowl or slink
beneath the heavens’ luster, can you know
the creatures of the night? Move past the snow
and, while you wander underneath the glow
of Vega and Arcturus, forge a link
with creatures of the night. Move past the snow
of slumber as they slither, prowl or slink.
The Rat Behind the Wall
What shields the rat from the mighty terrier?
through which she feels the slaps of yaps.
have missed her, though they’ve held Swiss cheese.
she will if driven out. The breeze
grows colder every night. Soon white
will coat the earth and squalls will bite.
A barrier traps yet frees.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Martin Elster would
be pleased to hear them.