Poem

Where am I?    Where am I going to?
    Do I really have any control over my
        altitude, speed, vector, constancy, or destination?

Hurtling end-over-end like there’s no tomorrow,
    queue up the in-flight entertainment
        as my ship careens dangerously close
            to the un-doing singularity.

Slack yoke and static-filled comms,
    littered snack wrappers, old Galaxy Mall magazines
        float about my cabin as my
            blanched face is ever lit in the embracing glow of my
                undying diversion.

                    [PLAY NEXT EPISODE]

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s