Against the Current (Space Prose)
After burners flame off.the globe below spins slowly.
I must concentrate.
No coffee for me.
It reeks here
of caffeine delirium.
I need my G.P.S.
Light feathers from squared shoulders.
An easy repair.
Gloves in hand are veined.
The gristle read in pain.
Weightless to my thoughts of view.
Marco Polo they said.
Conquistadores as a rebel yell.
Nothing goes against the grain.
Ha, ashes falling from the drain.
Zaa begins to spin
desires as colors focus bring.
Tanks to load tanks to me.
Nar a vision from a Christmas tree.
A long breath to gather out world wings.
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