Improv 23 (“A Martian Sends a Postcard Home” Raine)

“Goldie Won’t Move”

They abducted me from my incest pool of my floating ancestors
and the rectangular shining that lit us twenty-four hours each day.

The short ones were lifted by the taller to bang with their worm
attached squares. We learned to ignore those atomic echoes.

Now I am alone, in a circle, with nothing but a dark place to hide
in that skull with the smelly plant and too many rainbow points

At the bottom where I hope to be, too soon, on my side
or upside down, like my ancestors who turned white transparent.