Ugly Snowball
‘Do you love?’ I called through the Pillars of Creation.
None answered.
I’m a solar sailor who’s seen ancient come and go; the galactic plane’s just an eddying hamlet to me.
I ask the stars, ‘Do you love?’
‘I’m hot!!’ the self-obsessed fools gush, because they’re idolised by sycophantic, inert lumps orbiting them.
‘Do you love?’ I’ve called to nebulae, for aeons.
But, as yet, none reply.
My soul hosts only a cosmic wind.
The Second Tribe of Noah
I just wanted a decent death.
When Star Wormwood appeared, was part of me excited? Was this our Flood? I daresay…
Finally, something to trigger unification; a global communion.
The approaching celestial body terrified me, but when it stopped in LEO, was I disappointed?
Yes, I daresay.
Tides stayed regular, weather continued its inscrutable logic, but the star…
A star that rains down billions of AR-15s?
Did I see that coming?
I daren’t say…