Weekly poems from Adelaide, South Australia | Tuesday, October 05, 1999
as we jumped on to the last shuttle
I remember her reaching through the haze
the voice without a body
a laughing shadow
She awoke an old unfilled desire
as I realized it was her
from my dreams
pregnant - from having me last night
How could that be?
(me! a raped male?)
I had woken in terror - my seed
so forcefully pulled from me
(just another unreported alien abduction?)
then she yanked it from her glowing-metallic belly
said it was my offspring
I leapt from the shuttle
her laughter curdled the foreign air
as I gasped for the remaining air
Tomorrow I must find a way to tell this truth
the details so quickly fade
But to sleep again I never can
so excuse the way I appear
I'm eternally wide awake
I don't care to understand
Just say I'm a man
they will know what to think
and where to place me
in experience's final resting place.
and though it scares me so
She no longer has the body at the bus stop
tries so desperately to enter me
But as long as I refuse to laugh
I will never become possessed by her.
September 4th, 1994, Victor Harbor, South Australia