The stars might look like milky bones from afar. Or glowing tennis *****, still clutched in owner's hands while the dumb dog chases something hidden.
Did he stick his head out the window of the spaceship?
Tongue out, howling.
Did he know the hole he had dug was his own grave?
I hate when owners pretend to throw a ball, only to hide it behind their backs.
The dog trusts you. The dog loves you. The dog loves life. The dog doesn't want to die. The dog doesn't deserve to die. The dog doesn't care about exploring space, it just wants to find that ******* ball.
I got emotional about the dog they sent to space back in 1957
The windfarmer was thirty When Sputnik was launched. He woke the kids who followed His finger across the night sky Of a nativity scene.
He returned to the tractor, Ploughed years of soil, Planted rows of questions, Tilled crops and cared For animals.
He's a windfarmer now. Stands beneath the behemoth blades Turning over the air we breathe, Felling the clouds, And harvesting the wind. The mills are run by a distant orbiter. His farm, He calls it Spooknyk.