Hermann wants to eat nicotine sometimes. He asks for a lot. He paces space to make himself nervous because some people are better at surviving than living. If you wanna get heavy he’ll teach you. He knows it. Spends his time falling from the weight. Got a lead brain. It’s a battle magnet. He carries it around by the guilt straps. Don’t laugh. You didn’t see the size of the blizzard that birthed him. Fits of snow. Cotton rocks. Whipped white bullet stretches pinned with chips of teeth to his habit of crying for help. He doesn’t land well. Hates landing. It reminds him of not living up. Listen, I know there were days you wanted to die. Hermann will not bow down to gravity, falling, he catches up to himself mid-air just before the ground smacks. Pullthroat they call’im. Sharp Turner. Nothing touches the ground here. Ground is at capacity. He sees that. He falls back. He patches parachutes together with a kite knife. It’s big enough to raise him in the updrafts where he hides himself away in the angles of air outlined by his knack for believing that this life it’s gonna work itself out.
Posted on: Sat, 10 Jan 2015 06:00:08 +0000
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