Edwin backs into the voidnHe's not in training nownAnd the pilot standing 19 feetnFrom Edwin on the surfacenBleached bone whitenWas once a pilot who flewnSorties in a warnnBut that don't matter any morenEdwin's three feet from the floornAs the pilot without warningnTakes a piss inside his pantsnHoping his pressure suit don't boilnAnd Edwin does the samenCharles Darwin's royalsnThe Eagle too, man's greatest featnMiraculously intactnAll acute angles, knees and elbowsnSquats in golden underpantsnnMuch later in the daynEdwin locks the cargo baynAnd turns to see the cyclopsnNeil Armstrong through the hatchnHe's drifting further out of wednesdaynEye clamped between the ice capsnThen Edwin does the samenThey're like two orphans at the window of an aeroplanenIt's 200 below zeronThe sun's shrieking like an owlnTheir footprints crush the bones of fairiesnAs their grasps are disemboweledn