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
poem by Bill Knott
Added by Poetry Lover
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