by Nick Gisburne
She picks apart the curious remains,
The bones of crooked skeletons, the skin.
Most precious are their perfect metal brains,
And all the silent secrets locked within.
But force and gentle coaxing fail alike,
Resisting any science, trick, or tool,
Until she sees a strange electric spike.
The brains, inert, as one, contract, and cool.
Beyond the pain her freezing flesh can bear,
Transfixed, she sees them split along a seam,
And, swimming in a fog of frigid air,
Unspeakable perversions choke her scream.
“I said this planet wasn’t worth the cost.
Excuse me, miss. We’re tourists, and we’re lost.”
