Space Poem

“Remove your oxygen mask, unclip your magnetic shoes,

take hand – My O my how tall you will stand!”


But I can scarcely see let alone stand on this marsh-mellow turf that you claim is land.

“Our EtherWorld requires supports. Not to worry you will not fail, in this Space no hurt prevails.”

To step outside with you this night, I feel sure that I just might

loose all those things that are my right to do with as I please, no one else must I appease.

So off with you and be gone away, into this Space I cannot stray.


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