It's nice to sit alone,
Thinking, probing,
Your heart is free,
Your mind ever-exploring.
But imagine when you aren't,
There's no choice when you are spun out;
A human pressed beyond normal means,
But given a real outer-world snout.
This space station is amazing,
It will habituate me for all my days;
And We are all hoping I am far enough to raise attentions,
At least from demonic strays.
I'm still sitting alone,
I am in my sixties;
I thought I saw a ship twenty years ago,
It was a tease.
Why couldn't I have gotten a pet...a dog?
An automaton, a silhouette, or a mannequin?
Something alive? Maybe a hamster?
At least, in the end, a gun, a knife or javelin?
