where cosmic palms are read and untimely fortunes are told by abyssal blackness in the guise of twinkling clairvoyants
planets reach out to touch lost faith yearning for a claim to stardom but the uncelestial zone yields only dead broke dreams that have been missold
inside the sensei shadows of physics whisper contemptuously of blaggards that "couldn't even imagine how to float never mind actually be buoyant"
outside sub-zero temperatures make sure their teeth are heard chattering as their lips splutter kisses upon every last inch of spacial decay comets are the remnants of their spit splattering