The Visitors

Have you ever...

wondered why...

you have...

no friends...

they don't...

stop by...

they never chat...

they never spin...

they never whisper...

to begin a...

love affair...

or conversation...

what the crap...

is stopping them...

am I...

so ripe...

like...

week old meat...

I look...

like hell...

I smell...

like feet...

or never bathe...

or wear...

too much cologne...

I tell you...

friend...

you aren't alone...

they have us...

all in solitary...

who are we...

so awful'y bad...

or well informed...

they...

don't want out...

what we...

could blab...

or are we...

fenced...

corralled...

confined...

for some...

entirely other...

arbitrary thing...

now...

I ask you...

is this all...

a test...

a frikkin...

nightmare dream...

some psycho...

governmental scream...

on drugs...

they slipped in...

our ice cream...

or...

mushroom ring...

that keep's us...

down in basements...

maybe...

we are writers...

who are building...

on our characters...

or actors...

who are seeking...

someone's motivation...

maybe...

baby maybe...

we are on...

some creep'n vessel...

out in...

deep black space...

and we have...

damn well...

been abducted...

and we'd...

never know...

aside from...

real nasty music...

piped in...

just days away...

from some...

illicit destination...

where we...

wake up...

with a finger...

in our ass...

and...

some jerk...

telling us...

it's just business...

or...

s'pose they didn't...

do a thing...

and we...

really are...

that different...

cause...

we don't need...

backing cameras...

or GPS...

to navigate...

from...

block to block...

or little writings...

coming out...

our toilet roll...

instructing us...

to wipe...

our butt...

I watch them...

all on laptops...

and their smartphones...

and their artpads...

and their emotes...

and they're not...

from here...

they won't...

say hi...

nor show...

one sign...

acknowledging...

we live...

or die...

or breath...

the ample...

toxic air...

they've made...

the chemtrail soup...

that suits them...

to a tee...

they're not...

down here...

for you...

or me...

and have...

this damned...

antennae wire...

dangl'ing...

from their ear...

who are they...

dear  the hell...

you say...

well...

all I know's...

there's more...

humanity in...

a stool sample...

these days...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015