poetry by Margaret B. Simon   Spacer's Museum   On TRAV trivid, a promo: creations by nameless spacers who pooled their credits to set up a gallery of tours, a dreamscape for deja vu. An empty mask of Othello sings "Love Is a Many Splendored Thing", Triton giants join hands in a circle and prance to a ragtime minuet. Centaurians perform an achingly precise Brubeck retrospective on harpsichord. A ring of giant morels encases the sun, while the primal stuff of the stars amoebas into limitless permutations that rain down from the annals of unrecorded history. The gift shop features alien perfumes, scented tapers from Omichron jungles, the intoxicating ecru buds of Betelguese. You remain a prisoner of the unattainable, your life's laundry dries on a chain link fence beneath the whish and spam of autotrans. Time passes like an off-beat metronome. It's a holo promo for a trip you can't afford, a seat on a barstool, a drink never served. Shall you flatline out on ancient CD-ROM's, staple a curtain of darkness over the skies? Do you need to know of this museum, these galleries of captured imagination from worlds and transformations that remain ever beyond your grasp?     Contributor's bio Table of Contents Background by Fantasy Graphics