Confessions of a UFO Tracking Station Employee

by | Oct 15, 2019 | Issue Eleven, Poetry


In my spare time I take sandpaper to a spaceship.

The flour sack holds geraniums.

A solar system of silverware

dines uncloned.

The quarks I’ve placated, credit card

decals on a store-window universe.


The phenomenon is churches de-paneled

of stained glass. Radioactivity progression

at each cross. Votives, their theism lucent.

Why faith defenestration?

I query the shuttle creature.

The church jocular with incense.


Heresy, corrupt me a penny roller.

Mollify Medusa with hollow-Earth

Sunday school. Still she’ll turn

you to time-drained bone.

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