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Imagine an alien invasion. I'm talking about the mother
of all motherships. Oozing dripping grey tentacles
maim & rip open everyone at the party while you & I keep
vaping out here by the garage. Mango-flavored puffs just
thick enough to mask screams, to see in the night, dark & thin.
I watch your ass sway its way to the house for two more beers,
hear you shout, & run up the sidewalk to be by your side.
Endless suffering in the living room. Slippery viscera hide
behind a red couch that shouldn't be. An extraterrestrial near-
by has you in its grip, crushes your sweet skull that had been
so happy an hour ago. How I feel now is the exact color of the rusty
blood, the limbs that can't dance anymore. It's not new to say, or deep,
but out here, laughing with you, I'd destroy every unearthly ventricle
for one more puff, another minute, another, another, another.



Weston Richey is a poet, writer, and hopeful academic originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Weston received a BA in philosophy and English from New York University, and is currently an MFA candidate in creative writing at Rutgers University–Newark. Their work has appeared in FreezeRay Poetry.
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15 Apr 2024

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