R/ckets and S/ntries

painstaking inclusion in the word, far off. then the chance at lateral relief by way of what charm, the newest structure for the same old thing. in this vast political comfort zone, people remind each other of desperation, a picture we all carry. at night, something inexact seems plausible. sure, aliens are robust and ridiculous. who needs eyestalks and groping tentacles in this peaceful place? and thru what murk of star shit, just to reach this dead rock. are we wild in that scenario? suddenly the space station infers attack, out of mode, it's electric! we've seized the gunsel, torqued on trope, capture is imminent! and all goes into the books, dull refectories. no one's too busy to mind their own business, this attack is in the cards. the aliens are in the mouintains again, surveying the plump valley and all its grit. people will step close at times, then fuck it: too much detail. and the machine made government pushes past.