Andrew Collard<\/p>\n
The ancient spacemen rode vibrations.
\nThey were born with beards,<\/p>\n
suckling desperately in the fore-
\nshadow of sports, and sudden death.<\/p>\n
Crossing T’s on mis-marked constellations
\nthey knocked our heads,<\/p>\n
the grace of their tango staining
\nour faulty parachutes.<\/p>\n
They maimed us one by one
\nas we knelt in the TV light for cover.<\/p>\n
But the kettle sleeps, sometimes.<\/p>\n
My hands relearn the softness of cats
\nand my mouth, the dry<\/p>\n
shock of molars on gravel.<\/p>\n
Each conception, though, when the sun
\nreclothes their sexmaps,<\/p>\n
I feel the echoed thump
\nof spacefeet on butter.<\/p>\n
ANDREW COLLARD<\/strong> lives in Madison Heights, MI, and attends Oakland University. Recent work can be found online at Word Riot<\/em> and Ex Fic<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Andrew Collard The ancient spacemen rode vibrations. They were born with beards, suckling desperately in the fore- shadow of sports, and sudden death. Crossing T’s on mis-marked constellations they knocked our heads, the grace of their tango staining our faulty … Continue reading