by Nick Gisburne
In ludicrous, insane, electric ships,
We cross the crooked curves of crazy space.
Rejoicing as the aether’s tangent tips,
We shift our sails to skim this painful place.
Unfathomable forces, as we move,
Accelerate the senses of the crew.
Rotating on a grim, galactic groove,
Our pilot, swearing, somersaults us through.
A living world is ripped, reduced to ash
By one impassive thrusting of a thumb.
However quick or clinical, the smash
Leaves all of us, inside, in silence, numb.
Beyond the blinding dust, beyond the dead,
Through chaos, into madness, we are led.
