Space Dogs and Were-Sheep: surreal new poetry on the Grievous Angel

Heading into the realms of the surreal with these ​two new poems: Fatima & the Circus of Doctor Now by John W. Sexton and Pastoral with Were-Sheep by Zella Christensen.
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Fatima & the Circus of Doctor Now
by John W. Sexton

With nine micro-meteor stigmata
barking Laika appeared at Fatima
starlight leaked from her matted fur
as revelations began to stir
 
the Virgin Mother in her veil of rain
poured out her conscience again and again
while at the circus of Doctor Now
an ancient woman swallowed a cow
 
a rope of shadow unwound from the wall
and tied down the day so night couldn’t fall
stars screamed unseen beyond the blue sky
and a question answered the question why
 
a bee stung a bear who kicked in a hive
then fell down dead then fell down alive
forwards stepped backwards and stop began
and wakefulness slept while lethargy ran


Pastoral with Were-Sheep
by Zella Christensen

Let's quit our jobs and move to the country
of pure-white sheep
who laze as long as the sun is out
and are so busy sleeping,
they hardly need tending.
 
They'll doze dreamlessly all day
till the moon hones hooves to daggers
and from molars fashions fangs
which tear apart the docile collie
as she tries to calm the flock.
 
Each night we'll sleep so well
from days spent in bucolic leisure
that we won't hear the ewes
baying at the door,
scratching the cottage walls.
 
When we live in the country
we'll be safe from drive-bys,
see, when we turn on the TV,
that we've left death in the city,
and fret over our families there.
 
One full moon, a ram will break
the window in our room with Pan-like horns,
and a lamb will sink her teeth
into our suntanned thighs.
Then we will live as sheep in the country.