A Voicemail from Outerspace

A wind chime twinkles 
while dogs bark at a 
dirt brown sky.

The warning winds 
reclaim the Earth, 
unpleasantly 
advertising 
something 
unintelligibly
bad.

Humanity says: 
Leave a message.

We are hobbled,
illiterate,
subjected to 
translated signs
of possible 
impending 
doom 40,000
years old, 

Or, put another
way,
Domestication.

Who speaks
primal signs? 
Not dogs…
Man’s best link
to living has lost
its language too.

Although,
The trees bent 
by violent skies 
paired with
huddled birds 
grounded, 
robbed of flight 
outside,
Speak sounds
liberated from 
language 
that blinds the eye 
with tears 
like the dirty wind 
shitwhipping the porch.

This is the rising
action of a
performative
life, but there’s
still time for
things to be how
they are, 
the same:
Dull,
Dead,
And Deaf.
—
Darkness came
next and ate the
sky with rolling
rain that wet the
dirty wind,
muddying
messages
postmarked
3600 light-years
away.

Or, put another
way, old 
beginnings
Far away from
life on Earth.

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