Standing watch at the dematerialized
Gates of dawn,
me spotted cogified cosmonauts
constipated and command less. With branded barrels of JP-5 by their side,
star lust, Mars or bust, spare a brother a dime; beaming from mutant dimensional eyes
acquired from over exposure on underfunded flybys.
More members of Precariat class
Compounding a conundrum
these abandoned astronauts,
angry and ample, ascended upon my perched place
poised as protectorate.
Pausing, passing simulations over situations,
Summarizing summations,
“could anarchist astronauts gather before the ephemeral door while it whirled and twirled
and bore no resemblance to analog cyborgs?”
They so craved to lore into a post utopia all night convenient store.
Rolling snow dust hills separate us in distance,
while This Owl malignant magic codifies confidence within mind crust.
Raising voice to join in over-heard, overhead, over-stated choir…