The shape of space

Debris and trash

Flying though the air

Through which she must pick

To descend to the surface

This is odd

She imagines

Like I’ve done this before

She knows who awaits her below

Jumping from scrap to scrap

She makes her way

Through the asteroid belt

Now she has only



What order she can never remember

But it bends her shape

Then bends it back she thinks

She is solid



All at once

She is waiting to transform

Into one

She cares not what

She looks down, waking

The concentric circles in her coffee

Swirl like Saturn’s rings

He says,

“Kind of like a washing machine with legs, don’t you think?”


“A washing machine with legs. It would feel rather out of place on the street, don’t you think?”

She explodes Saturn’s rings with her coffee spoon.

“You have no idea who I am.”


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