God help me, like an Alien scene
only no interplanetary mission,
no gestation, instantaneous im-
plo-sion, ack! Not in, EXplosion.
Guts gone mad, spinning mad,
how long before the impact, the
reversal, stopper down, til brain
bit-splats paint walls splotched?
Constipated concentration cuts
in deeply, threatened blood spill,
but nothing comes, not a dribble.
Struggle, struggle, eking drops,
dripping platelets, life stuff til
death dries blood, water-plasma
to crusty nothing, like this spell-
dry, buds nipped, fount sprung-
out, nothing left but tensional
growth, crescendo killers ready to
pounce position, bow-arced-arrow
drawn, and still nerves fray-swell.
No celestrial tandos to write, no
rondos or gallyups to plug, ply, and
pen before nightfall’s dark clearing.
Expel, breathe, steam out, the moon
is pinched inside itself tonight too.