Escape from Planet Microverse

Its porous surface of all-seeing eyes  
with volcanic sties at polar ends,  
 
from the erratic tug of satellites that scan  
across the static of elliptical rings,  
 
when spirit had released its  
circle into a sea of impetus--  
 
the will of force, to start and end  
a journey past, and then begin again.  
 
Traditional spells aside,  
with much to abort and to abide,  
 
to assuage the widow moon's bridge-keeper  
with bribes of all that you promised her,  
 
Lest you wade the murky depths in the  
guise of an albino salamander,  
 
avoiding consumption while traversing  
the oily maze of surface fires  
 
that block the way, and flotillas of  
man-o-war jellyfish,  
 
their tentacles rife with voltage  
to your slithering genitalia.  
 
And from the mantle of your blindness  
you sense amid the current  
 
a jagged danger on the far side  
where brittle struts from bone of baleen  
 
threaten to sabotage the integrity  
of your shape-shifting escape.  
 
Little-known the consequences.  
No book of shadows to guide us,  
 
nor the written divination of runes, or  
reed scriptures from the after world.  
 
The encryption simply reads that  
there is nothing more, once it is begun.