Tag Archives: ufos

Kicked Up In April

The cocktail waitress smoked a menthol cigarette,

saying it cleared out the snot and crap from her head,

left her sinuses dry as a bone, as pollen kicked up in April.

Out in the back of the restaurant, five minutes for a smoke,

before she went back to smiling for ogling men, fake flirtation,

and being a pretty dream for hopefully big tips.

I was smoking too, as night fell, and the hot afternoon faded.

I was in love with her, and was glad to be alone with her,

away from the sweltering, stifling, and noisy kitchen.

We looked up at the sky, a barren and cold and unbroken black,

with two, maybe three weak and blown out stars, and no moon.

So little in the banal lights of the city to dream upon.

Then a bright, bright red light streaked across that flat black,

zigged up and zagged down and made impossible moves,

leaving an open cut on the sky that bled for a few seconds, then faded.

Then it streaked off, gone forever.

The cocktail waitress stubbed her cigarette on the wall, sighed out her smoke,

Aliens, she said, their watching us, manipulating us, cross breeding us,

and we sold ourselves out for not even thirty pieces of silver, just some toys,

She goes inside, to smile and perform, and I’m alone in the cooling night.

This not our world, not even the world of the powerful, but the demonic hands they kiss.

The weight of that black sky that held only fallen angels was unbearable.

I too, went inside.

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.


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.

The Devil’s Highway

The Devil’s Highway, through the desert, to the graves so quiet.

I wait for night, for the moon’s bone glow, the stars run wild.

I wait for the snow now that summer has gone by, a bad dream.

Off the side of the road, smoking a cigarette, laying on the car’s hood,

as I look up at the sky, where little grey men fell down, left for dead.

Another world, just a rich man, with gold in his pockets and knife to our throats.

Angels come through only sometimes, like the cracking up radio stations,

as I drive onwards to whatever bad dreams are yet to come, like Obsolescence.

They may be there, they may not, but don’t you ever lay even money on it.

And the first snowflakes fall into my naked glow headlights, like gossamer tears.

Stars above, stars below, and maybe we can pretend it’s Eden, the world clean and sweet.

Two thousand miles to go nowhere, but here I am, and the answers are no closer.

Ride or Die

Mt Shasta, in early spring. Melting snow. Tender buds.
She holds tight to me, our helmets touching, at speed.
The UFO were all nested here, baby birds, shivering.
Left by a mothership, to do her will, win her battles.
She said she saw gossamer wings in my back, shiny.
She kissed me, said I could fight for her, and win.
The nest was in the mountain, where pale men, ghosts,
plotted the war, fed the baby birds, sharpened their talons.
That night, her body was warm and bare against my back.
She radiated, and swallowed that heat greedily, needy.
Were we soldiers, or angels going home, or releaser of
the light that all things. She said even the UFO shone bright.
I stopped the motorbike, looked at the mountain, helmets touching.
I fight for her. I fight for her, which is fighting for myself, for a home.
We might go home, or we might just leave these corporeal bodies.
We might lift the Demiurge’s curse, and make everyone free and clean.
I revved the motorbike and sped to gate between the road and heaven.
She said I had wings. That I could fight for her. She said I could win.

Cutting The Dark

Faith is the name my mother gave me.

Faith she always had. Always all she had.

She couldn’t keep the demons back.

She couldn’t keep him from betraying me.

Faith held her together and held me close.

But my heart was wrung out without deliverance.

He took something precious from me.

Something that’s beautiful for other people.

He took something precious from me.

And God looked the other way.

Out in the desert hills, cold in the night,

I look up at the sky, all those distant stars

Faith is the name my mother gave me

and  it’s in short supply, as I smoke my last ciggie.

Faith my mother always had. Always all she had.

Faith? Is it my name? Is it me? Is it in the sky?

I see a blue light come out of nowhere, up there,

sharp and warm, cutting the dark, spilling bloody light.

I feel something I can’t dream, or say with my tongue.

Demon or angel, it’s a passing in the night, a terrifying wonder.

And then it’s gone, a flashing spark blinking out,

and I am without a thought of what to wipe away.

Faith is the name my mother gave me. My name.

Out in these desert hills so cold in the night.

These lonely hills I could walk home or to Tartarus.

To the underworld or to the arms of my mother.

He took something precious from me, forever tainted.

But there’s a blue light in the sky and another world.

Faith is the name my mother gave me. She gave that to me.

Maybe God is indifferent, but mother is not, not ever at all.

I walk back home, to mother, to home, to walking on to paradise.

Maybe God will come through, and he’ll wipe away my tears.

But I know my mother will tonight.

Queen of Stars

The sky is stars, only stars, only pinpricks of heaven.
Sitting on the steps of the trailer, watching them,
wishing for something I cannot name, cannot speak.
 A light shines brighter, a cross of light, cutting the dark.
My eyes lock into it, and the world falls away, and I
am somewhere far from this world.
 I wake up, well into morning, in my own bed, clear, clean.
Like a fog evaporated with the bright hot day, it all slips away.
But the model whose picture I hang on my wall,
 I notice an eerieness in her smile, a harshness to her beauty,
and a loss in my heart, where simple adoration had been,
an ache as cold as the depths of the galaxy.
 I lay down, close my eyes, and cold and dreams and passion
wash over my clean and clear heart, my untroubled grey eyes,
and a moment last forever, in a Queen’s Kiss.

The Crimson Angel

Late night drive, from the lush green mountains of my home,
to the empty and harsh deserts, where the aliens come down.
Angels ride UFOs, and Demons and Deros jamm light vibrations.
When I get to Scottsdale, when I get to Bobbi Jo, it will be clear.
 Little pull off, thermos of coffee, didn’t know it was so cold at night.
The Eye of Mercy is brighter than the moon, than all our time.
It warms me, as the wind is cold, and their is devilish dreams about.
Eye in my eye, to see the light in the dark, in the hold out saints.
 The sun is rising, the bloody birth of the clear, blameless sky.
In the half burning light, the desert is a shadow and a star.
In the honeyed light, it’s all so mysterious, wonderous.
The light of day is so harsh to memories and hope, our angels.
 The coffee gives jitters, and there’s no smokes to steady me.
But I know she’s waiting, The Crimson Angel, the Light of Justice.
Come all this way, the demons getting in the music, even my dreams.
I will join her. I will be holy and pure, a paladin forever restored.