Dizzy
Powered by a micro-Hole,
The station began to wobble;
Broken loose, the Hole
Swirled spacetime
Like an etheric smoothie,
Jones on her roller skates,
Distal-ring flying,
Wove a drunken pretzel,
While proximal rings spaghettied,
Into the Hole’s black heart.
Still beyond the surface of no return,
She thumbed her suit on,
Took a crazy arc outward,
And cranked her throttles.
The shuttle was right there,
And there oughta be a cool trillion,
In her private numbered account.
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