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Greg Delanty

Greg Delanty is the author of several books of poetry, including Book Seventeen (Louisiana State University Press, 2015), Loosestrife (Fomite Press, 2011), and The Ship of Birth (Louisiana State University Press, 2007). He is the recipient of the Austin Clarke Award, the Allen Dowling Poetry Fellowship, a Guggenheim Grant, and the Patrick Kavanagh Award, among others. He is the poet in residence at Saint Michael’s College in Vermont.

By This Poet


The Alien

I'm back again scrutinizing the Milky Way
          of your ultrasound, scanning the dark			   			              	
                    matter, the nothingness, that now the heads say
          is chockablock with quarks & squarks,
gravitons & gravitini, photons & photinos. Our sprout,
who art there inside the spacecraft
               of your Ma, the time capsule of this printout,
               hurling & whirling towards us, it's all daft
          on this earth. Our alien who art in the heavens,
our Martian, our little green man, we're anxious
to make contact, to ask divers questions
          about the heavendom you hail from, to discuss
                    the whole shebang of the beginning&end,
          the pre-big bang untime before you forget the why
and lie of thy first place. And, our friend,

to say Welcome, that we mean no harm, we'd die	
          for you even, that we pray you're not here
                    to subdue us, that we'd put away
          our ray guns, missiles, attitude and share
our world with you, little big head, if only you stay.

A New Law

Let there be a ban on every holiday.

        No ringing in the new year.

No fireworks doodling the warm night air.

        No holly on the door. I say

let there be no more.

        For many are not here who were here before.