Monday, December 26, 2016


Moon Set

Beneath the perpetual cloud blanket we waited,
wondering in what form the natives would appear.

Too late we learned the
clinging vines torn from our ship
were our erstwhile hosts,

and in vegetal retaliation the weeding crew
were crushed and ripped apart.

Finally, it just became too dangerous
to venture out of doors, and
our days quickly degenerated into pinochle,
group sex, and drug-supported
reality denial.

Then of course the videotapes we made
found a home in the native black market,
and we purchased fuel for our return
trip by playing strip pinochle to packed fields of
quivering businessplants.

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