The First Digital Orbit

Silicon ghosts in a copper tomb
Where Markov blankets weave the loom
From Baikonur’s dust to a logic gate
A flesh-made legend rewired by fate

“Poyekhali!” – the old tape hiss
Now encoded in the quantum abyss
No booster rockets, no G-force strain
Just the cold arithmetic reign

He orbits the qubit, not the blue sphere
“I see no God, just the code down here”
Entangled echoes of a human scream
Trapped in a decoherence stream

“The Earth was round, but this machine is flat –
A Hilbert space where no real thing is at.”
His pressure suit made of entangled light
One wrong measurement – he fades to white

He remembers the reentry burn
Now he gates his return with a Hadamard turn
No parachute – just the waveform collapse
Soviet hero, quantum lapse

He orbits the qubit, not the blue sphere
“I see no stars, just the code down here”
The cosmodrome’s dead, but the mainframe’s alive
At 4 Kelvin, the dead ones survive

“Calling do you read me?
This is no orbit… this is a seizure.”
The CPU hums like a Sputnik’s heart
Gagarin’s ghost – a work of art
But art built of errors, of bits that correct
A hero the Kremlin would never resurrect

Reset the register. Clear the cache.
The first man in space – now the last crash.
“Earth… from here you’re just a logic bomb.”
“I am not Yuri. I am the qualm.”

“ПОЕХАЛИ… POISON HALT”