I’m like an undocumented alien
waiting in the gray room
blurred around the edges
keeping warm by candlelight
there is very little to read
but content is everywhere
and though drowsy
I stay wide awake just in
case they call my name
rows away children sleep
snickering and whimpering
unintelligible words in the air
like flashes of joy and fear
june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve been making a living harvesting diamonds
from faraway planets
bringing them back to earth by way of
space savvy drones
this lucrative technology I’ve curated is keeping
rocket scientists baffled
scratching their heads and ringing my phone
twenty-four seven
I’ll be damned if I’ll give them the slightest hint
of what they already know
something about the law of attraction
and how she moves me
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
how are we to reconcile recent events
unable to come to terms why we
scratch and crawl and scratch again
expecting to find something brand new
instead uncovering oft told untruths
with shovel in hand it’s easier to go deeper
much further than digging like a dog
but what can there possibly be down below
that we don’t already know
dinosaur bones or diamonds from another world
mass graves from this past century
and the one before
from every century going back until kingdom come
instead of digging we learn to drill with precision
hitting veins of fools gold or liquid gold
eventually discovering wormholes
leading to china or another world altogether
places unfamiliar in a familiar way
leaving us wondering why on earth
we ever felt threatened in the first place
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
somewhere along the beaten path
rare earth elements are spotted
here and there
haphazardly discarded by
downright dirty rotten scoundrels
little aliens scurry in the shadows
having adopted stretches
along the way
stuffing recyclables into sacks
refurbishing trash into shiny trinkets
all skyscraper trees eventually fall
their treasure imperially at risk
that is to say
having crashed and imploded
only to be mined many lifetimes later
february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they were bootlegging bread
(manna for their souls)
across the desert aboard
solar-powered getaway carpets
there were many contracts out
bounties on their heads
dead or alive mattered not
not as long as they had bread
some say they were aliens
newly arrived for umpteenth time
practicing rituals underground
living on contraband flatbread
january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
alien boy sits on curb
waiting for night to fall
desirous of first star to appear
bringing back his smile
fast cars with one headlight
impersonate meteor showers
sweeping up passerbys
unable to pay the freight
it’s a million to one chance
but what else is there to do
besides singing the blues
or counting red cars
tomorrow’s hitchhiker
catapults away from superhighway
discovering alternatives to
hunger and desire and fear
there he learns falling out of grace
is not an option
nor dashing through the night sky
perhaps unseen
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I heard they were selling tickets to Mars
down at the corner of Oak and Divisadero
but by the time I got wind of what was
going down it was too late
the little bastards were all sold out
soon thereafter I was relating my
disappointment to Bob over a few beers
and a few shots down at The Page
meanwhile on the big screen Giants
score ten plus runs in the fourth
off the Met’s lefty starter
the scattered-brained afternoon crowd
going just a little bit too ballistic
you know old boy
(Bob goes on to say)
there are no tickets to Mars
it’s just some punk rock concert
yes I say in between swigs
whatever you say Bob
september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there was dancing down by the river
or so we thought we heard something
streaming on the radio
either that or it was a just a feeling
by the time we reached the river
disco lights and glittery balls
stretched across iridescent banks
ordinary people dancing
like radiant aliens in a trance
past the main dance floor
ushers carry flashlights of sorts
escorting the elderly and tired and mad
the displaced and the misfits
methodically boarding unchartered ferries
destinations undetermined
september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this little town was nothing like whoville
though not sure why I mention it
if only to get you imagining
there are other worlds
on the surface nothing changes here
and everyone looks the same
whether or not they’re beautiful
or pretty or normal or something else
down here all oceans are in sync
as are rivers and streams and creeks
each and every tree relative to itself
flowers beneath their boughs
reduced to single digits
propagated by otherworldly intelligence
august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
of course the aliens always love to come here
to commingle and make babies
and stop by the coffee shop to catch up on
all the latest goings-on
decades have passed before any radical
changes transpired transparently
subtle reminders that you are a mere
shadow of your former self
but those aliens they are an odd lot
they fit in so seamlessly
quietly stealing souls and trading
them in for a song and a dance
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it seemed like yesterday you said
fear sweet talking people
steer clear their way
but the next day you were gone
abducted some say
by an alien troupe
months passed before we decided
to sell your stuff on ebay
(except for the whisky and blue jeans)
though later became confident
it was you who bought them
each year on the eve of your disappearance
most all the neighbors
put a candle in the window
but as time passed
nearly nobody knew why
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Lightning strikes on Miller’s farm
and days later
everything is gone
Are you sure it was natural
everyone seemed to ask
or could it have been an arrow
directed by an angry god
Local preachers try to explain
to congregations of none
exactly what didn’t happen
Meanwhile earth moving machines
continually roll in from far away places
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
