ALIENS

 Endre Farkas

                  I was sitting in The Skala having a beer
                  When a guy in a Superman’s costume walked by.


What I think you are saying,
inhaling smoke on the back porch
after everyone is in bed:


We’re all aliens


born into this world out of love,
out of rape, by mistake


we enter this alien state
and make it a temporary home
where we struggle, live, love
grow and—


and then, like you
become aliens somewhere else.


What I think you are saying:


To be an alien is to be in our natural state.


I, myself, lately, have been feeling strange,
walking past my parked car


lying among silk desires,
seeing the city as a murder of crows
as rooming-house angels


at night, talking to dreams and fetishes who
stroll along familiar avenues holding hands.


I see your aliens everywhere.