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The Sky

  by Christopher DeWeese

  The sky curved slowly
  towards something even darker,
  so full of astronauts
  hoisting tiny flags
  that it must have been the past
  or distant future.
  Space ate the vision
  and put me there instead,
  all alone there lonely
  where I stood
  drifting away forever.
  A long transmission
  confused me for its hero,
  a one in some gone binary
  unrehearsed on ground
  by ground control.
  I was feeling heavy
  and so I kept on going,
  admittedly elegant
  in my emotional gown,
  my life built from credit.
  The promise of something
  chased behind me:
  a rabid cause,
  a beat in the telemetry.
  Beyond the dogs
  our grandfathers abandoned
  in the uncertain gravity
  of what they didn’t know,
  I kept on floating.
  I checked my apparatus.
  I concentrated on the yellow. 
  Oh strange fraternity
  of cursed lights!
  I thought that I might end
  before my momentum did,
  and it made me feel infinite,
  like an American
  stepping out to view again
  in cold cold morning
  the terrible symptoms
  of their overwhelming inheritance.

    Mantis 12

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