Cosmic Crisps

I wonder what aliens

would think if they beamed up my brain

and analysed it – my dreams, my memories, my thought processes.


I wonder if they would sympathize with dream me

telling my boss to go home on his day off

instead of drifting around like a cloud of nervous energy,

or tell child me how to remember

those calculations that always escaped my mind.

I wonder if they would find other humans

as puzzling as I do.

Would they feel cramped with all the emotions I feel but can’t express?

Would they ponder details of life,

the same ones that sneak into my anxieties?

Would they feel comfortable

letting my brain reconnect to me

when I am disconnected to society?

Answers in my Spacer Raiders, please.



You will see Orion in me. In my rather too much leg. Tucked under neck, toes sticking out towards rainbow galaxies. They itch to track you, unfurling from the spine, down and down and down. Slinky jumping from the arrow head, pointed at your wordy heart. Apocalypse: the constellations shriek. They don’t want to save the world. They just hate the ugly patch our orbit takes. A screwed up sheet in a universal waste paper basket. You will see Orion in me. Orion is no longer. Orion is me.