The first alien life may not come from the stars, but from ourselves. —Alan H. Goldstein
Sly, hidden, rubbing elbows in the stew,
we’ve passed your tongue and tear around your brain
like termites in a mound. A bluish goo,
sly, hidden, and digested with the stew,
we’ve cloned ourselves and changed you through and through.
“What’s wrong?” your friends will ask. You can’t explain
what, hidden, rubbing elbows in the stew,
has passed your tongue, and tears now round your brain.
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