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Conflicting Reports over the Radio

Michael Rerick

                                             So, marriage, packing
toward the desert, the slow car trip through reinventions of
                        gorge, bridge, waterfall,                snow
sights of miniature monuments,                                       peripheral movements,

                                             conflicting reports over the radio

[a race for the object. they
                                    found the tiny sculpture of a woman. we are waiting for them
                           to find the woman.

it grabbed my leg and wriggled off to the trees when i yelled.

we maintained an objective distance, but something went wrong.
chance. intimate
contact and communication.

it was disappointing.
they were all pale and dead by the time we got there.

our ships debilitate their machines.
                           involves extracting engines from their hard bodies.

what looked like a child came up.

many similarities.
thin skin.

through the trees it looked like the sun setting a bonfire.
coming to, i was stiff in the neck where the scar is.

behavior exhibited in their internal transmitters
confounds us:
two bags for intake and exhaust
multiple lobes,
some inefficient but active
minor organs
leaking cells.

our organization tells the truth. they are
real, like us.

wind. mosquitoes. holidays.
we’re blamed for everything.

i was on a table with something hard, cold going up my nose. but i couldn’t see what
         pushed it.

forced intercourse. and, often, tolerable
                                             children are

like anyone, but for the eyes.
it came in the bedroom window
the first time. and the other times i can’t remember.

concerning control, they hate to lose it.
wait. they despise waiting.

i hate i missed it.
three shallow imprints around a circle of burnt grass
                                                      like a big camp stove
                                             turned upside down.

we assemble our ships round and soft, swiftly,
they imitate.]

Michael Rerick

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