It's aimed at the stars,
Gunning for a gap between planets,
Barreling like rain from the sky,
And fractally repeating,
Forever outwards,
To the clouds and belts,
Of the outer systems,
It's just so, a sweeping eye,
To define in near space,
This last unknown, cold rock,
Pinned for a single probability,
Into an orgy of imaging,
Scanned and beamed, then gone,
A scream of near-zero friction,
From here on it's all toroidal,
The thousand trillion small worlds,
Comets and primordial accretion,
All unsentient yet planet killers,
Dressed in the dust of eons,
Kicked up by our passing,
And turned into a new entity,
Distant generations give it form,
Object, year and number,
Calculate its risk and orbit,
And then leave its end to systems,
Made autonomous and mad,
Serving humans without oversight,
They nudge it with space drive,
No comments:
Post a Comment