We Make Zines

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[Poem from Writings in Science anthology]

This is a maybe story
of 'what if' and 'could be'

We voyage out
through inky space
and land on a gray
cratered stone world
with sand, boot high

While exploring this realm
we find locked in place
a technological marvel
an eye pieced telescope

Where does it point?
Why only there?
Why can't it swivel?
Is it a clue?
What do we see
at the other end?

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