Tempe Terra

God's mouth sealed back in ‘69 by synthetic magnetosphere.

Sublimate ammonia from asteroids.

We cleave from our pressurised containment.

Left the idiots on Earth;

One more literate idiot

who's going to give birth to more idiots.

Your house got loud so fast. Isn't this enough?

Everybody be quiet.

Make me young, etc.

Imagine the sea from the melted cryosphere

lap the toes of all you noisy people.

I can imagine the last of the mirrors

tumble from its geostation.

Scattering mylar embers

on children's rough and tumble,

footprints on the orange bedform.

I can't believe we made it here,

that we're still alive

and making copies of us.

When we expire, we remain—disordered.

Drift down, and down, and down;

isn't this enough?

All the light that falls upon your face,

altered in its course.

So stop trying to fill your scrapbook.

Take a look at where you are.