TO RIPLEY (Alien 1-4)
Always your face like a space
(Destination: beautiful) ship
Empties its mote of closeup trace
Down screens that blink blank blip
Somewhere between countdown
And coma time is a line
Where waking centuries often
Drained against that measure we find
Our blood redshifts (direction: west)
Until film can clone one sun
With stars both whole and gone
Attending every sequel
We pray for an intent equal
To our interest
Copyright © Bill Knott, 1999. All Rights Reserved.