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
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