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It has a rectangular shape to it
I speak and it screams back to me
A million people running around inside
It tries to show me an image
But the people just run around quicker
The object sliding
On, a skinny, long, cylinder it hangs
On its side dangling
Holding on by its last attachment
The blue ball of fusion comes
through the long cylinder
sends the object flying
The rectangular thing
The color of orange and the thick red skin it has
Shaking paralyzed.
The people stop running around
I scream to it hoping it would reply,
It just sits trembling.
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