Tag Archives: alien human hybrids

The Thorns They Must Share

Out in the California desert, they hid.

The man. The woman. The lonely kid.

An old abandoned mansion. Old grace.

Came to rest, to escape, in this old place.

A nymph living in the dried up river bed.

In the kid’s ear at night, cold, sweet said

“The end comes a thief, comes unspoken.

The desert is just a sigh in a laugh broken.”

The man, the woman, not Adam, or Eve,

children of men, unquenchable fire believe,

trying to rebuild Eden in hard, cracked soil.

But this world of men, of hope, always spoil.

The owl, predator and abductor, in cold suns

calls down the mice for the devils it never outruns.

“We horde the seed and the blossom, second life.

We take your children and changelings fill your wife.”

The man, the woman, are not free in the dry plains.

There are not coming fires or angry, cleansing rains.

The saucers, the angels, demons and God we’re there.

The poison was in the hope, in the clean, harsh air.

The wolf, the child of Satan, scorns stray dog, bare teeth,

The stray runs into the night, the wolf’s domain, to grief.

“Hey young one.” The strays says. “God’s children burn now.

But there’s a pinprick of sweetness when you make the vow.”

The lonely kid looks to the city. Hides a magazine with a girl so pretty.

The wolf chases the stray around the sky, and us, whom angels pity.

The girl has long dark locks, soft eyes, and her body is pale and bare.

The angel sees the rocks soil where love blooms, what thorns it must share.

Emptiness In The Stars

The woman wore dirty, low top sneakers.
And old style. Falling apart. Frayed Laces.
She propped her feet up on the dashboard.
She looked out the window. I didn’t try to talk.
A Bible thumping station played on the radio.
They said The Rapture was coming; Their Revenge.
The Rockies started to raise over the arid plains.
The woman said her father landed at Mt. Shasta.
The woman said she felt an emptiness in the stars.
Bailey Colorado, I drop her off. Says her father’s here.
She says the emptiness, the ache will end now forever.
We’re all looking for The Rapture, Going Home, Our Revenge.


Bethany, in black knitted beanie, blue and worn ski jacket,
tight jeans, and black boots she’s had since high school

carries the memories of her lover, the weight of tin angel wings
and the soft, tender dreams that never came to be

as she walks in the cold, snow covered trail to the clearing
where The Devil From The Sky comes down for her.


5 hours, already morning, the night over, no sleep.
An ache in her, something taken, something precious.

The room undisturbed, her mind as dense and fogged
as her window now that the snow has come, blizzard tattered out.

A face, ashen with black, almond eyes, a voice unnerving in it’s calm.
A finger cold that brought sleep as it touched her cheek. She was a child, then.


She dreams of a child at night, her restless soul, The Devil From The Sky’s
ashen skin and black almond eyes. In the dream, she knows he can see her.

Repulsed and filled with love, she reaches out to him, but the distance is
that between man and god, woman and man, mother and child.

He laughs, floating in mid-air, untouched by humanity and the earth,
but the raw and naked madness that led her to marry a man who was death.


At the clearing now, sunset fading away to the pinprick bleeding of stars.
The brightest light cuts the skin the deepest, takes what it wants without a thought.

Nothing left here in this world. Her husband dead. The house burning. Madness screaming.
The Devil From The Sky may as well burn her eyes out and toss her aside.

And like the mockery of an angel, his light and ship comes down, silent, with teeth.
Nowhere left and soon enough he’ll put her away from her mind and life, that hateful, changeling child.

Child of Wonder

Cold desert night, first of August.
The old, metal building rusting out.
This is where he said she came.

The stars have never been so indifferent.
No angels, aliens, anything else coming.
Just bright light left on in an empty room.

“She glowed with inner light!” he said.
“She was a gentle sun and star!”
I remember the love and awe in his eyes.

This gutted ruin was their home.
Here miracles happened.
No light here now.

“She loves you very much.” he told me.
“You are her very own.”
“You are a child of wonder.”

No remnants of them now.
Dad long dead. The angelic woman?
Was she real? Was she only his dream?

No one in the stars. No flight to eternity.
My heart aches looking up, wanting more.
Wanting something I cannot find in this world.

Angel? Demon?

I wake up again in the back seat.
It’s almost dawn. I came about midnight.

There’s a fading cold in my head.
My heart thuds. My blood thick.

The same song plays on the radio.
Do you know angel from demon?

Her face, bone white, sharp, cruel.
Giant dark almond eyes. See it all.

The anesthetic lingering of dreams.
I am mute and on autopilot going back.

Her face, her serpent kisses, her lies.
I am father to another, a new kind of child.

No work until tonight, until the dark.
Windows covered. No light to burn me.

She is in my dreams, just as real there.
Our daughter grows her wings to cut me.

Many daughters, to take down ruling men.
Pretty faces with venom in their serpent kisses.