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Flight
Flight by Terence Cummings-Smith,
I ride the path ballistic,
in a screaming, scorching arc.
From perigee in flaming hell
to apogee far beyond Arcturus.
Neutrons and tachyons spray,
from magnetic nozzles.
Through burning twisting vortex,
of syncopated space and time.
Reality compresses into pinpoint ultraviolet before,
Mote infrared behind.
My very thoughts lingering,
most far behind.
Time's march freezes,
rolls retrograde.
Nuclei dance, atomically chattering,
Quarks trance.
And I'm there.
Copyright ©
Terence Smith
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