The hard part was finding a way into the comic free-fall free-for-all, getting past the wind resistence that snatched at you, brought you whistling back to earth where all you could do was a face-plant. It was hard catching your own self offguard, letting the care-free overwhelm the careful for even a two-count. So you started griping about the weather, recalled a funny fight phrase like spitting chiclets, told a joke, then another, then piled them on like flapjacks past the point of surrender, looks like you’re eating for two. Two you say? I’m eating for an army, want to grow into a target they can’t miss until the tears came, until the illogic of feelings climbed on board and started surfing until everything got funny, waves rolled on and on. Because otherwise it was hopeless, this humorless clodhopper case of the blues groaning about his bad knees on a cement trampoline still jumping up and down.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Jul 2013 13:53:42 +0000