Bilky’s Last Ride (2)

Pulling the strap over
And having the door slammed
By a toothless man with bloodshot eyes
He thought his pulse began to rise
With the rumble and shake he focused
On the galaxy painted on the window
His chest began to tax him but exhilaration
Beneath the tension as he was shot back
And then thrust forward, a whooshing (being) pumped in
And flashing lights where none had been
The tickle at back of neck,
the sluicing along the spine
As he climbed and dipped surpassing the feeling before
Spewing in a bed pan or on a dreadful drip
His fellow astronauts would (briefly) shoot by
A frantic ecstasy in their eyes and his system yet rise
Kicking in a flood of wakefulness
and above the frail specimen he was
He floated, his pains had been demoted
while flipped and flung
In apparent chaotic direction
_
To be continued