yeah that’s a bleeping dead alien body if i ever bleeping saw one
probe your fingers along the dead or living unhuman
musculature. have you ever touched an alien body?
of course, our human sets of hands have traced each
other, each of us alien in our own way. have you
ever loved an alien body? once the spit my human
body makes dripped off my tongue in the shape
of a moon, filled the craters of your chest with water.
a rover identified this as a sign of life or at least
capacity to sustain. a government probe identified your
moon-well body as an asset. they seized control &
initiated a cover up. as an act of resistance i wanted
to strip you clean i wanted to uncover. i am not
afraid to know what’s out there. everything that wants
to kill you is carbon & alive. already here. the probe
never asks if this alien has ever loved an alien body.
only concerned with the possibility of life & not
its practice. you tell me love can touch us across
eons, illuminated by the curvature of celestial bodies
too hot to hold. when you touch my face, despite the
heat, i believe this is true. i mean i want to believe, i
want to believe, i want to believe, i want
title from The X-Files season 3 episode 20, “Jose Chung’s From Outer Space”
on my birthday i cry over too much astrology. i
used to believe in intricate celestial calculations but
now i think i only believe in tuesdays. is that
anything? i was born on a tuesday, thrashing around
like a snake. it rained for 100 days that summer, and
me in the middle of it. if i were religious this might
make me biblical. umbilical. even dana scully knows
the planets can make you mean. murderous. flirtatious
with your coworker. oh, i’m getting ahead of things.
do let me know when the moment’s right. when we’re
ripe with electricity. to be born is to be imbued. like
a heart with a pulse. like a femur with a pulse.
is this helping? on the internet girls in beautiful rooms
tell me that if i believe in something i can make it
real. they tell me to repeat it out loud until it appears
before me. after hours of trying all i can conjure is
an apology. i’m not even sure if it’s mine. i’m sorry
i never opened that email. sorry i did. i’m sorry
we never tried psychedelics together. i’m sorry we
told you to break up with your girlfriend, sorry we
convinced you she was a vampire. sorry we were
right :/ sorry i never closed that bank account at the
bank down the street from your old house. from where
i used to get 7 am coffees and try to talk to the baristas
who wanted nothing to do with me. to them i was young
like wine before it is wine. i’m sorry they were right, sorry
i cried in the back corner in that ugly velvet chair. sorry they
brought me tea without saying a word and i couldn’t even
gasp out a thank you. sorry i cared so much when no one
would look at me. sorry if i was a ghost and held it against
you. sorry there’s $11.93 in that bank account. sorry i could
have bought us both a coffee with that money. sorry i didn’t.
sorry i still could.
titled and written after The X-Files season 3 episode 13, “Syzygy”