Before The Stormy Haito Poem by Dedrick Estiltaph

my body built wierd
to prepare for the alien ending and
its three grass orbs shooting off flames
like peculiar fireflys.

they'll sigh
its coming,
dying
a whimper (book wrong)
not a bang or sinewy
motorcade
is standing.

we retool
to mislead them, thus
I don't eat for days,
a gene I inherit
mostly
from my genes
I guess.
I starve to stess wax feelers,
innards of smiling zombies
who from it all
the bricks
molt their precious
seratonin
onto bread and
butter
stories
we gobble up
as foreign truth serum
wide open for all to seethe
and operate at will.

I will.