Hello, messenger. You are no good at flying but faithful in your attempts.
Pranked again by your devices, you can’t resist the dime store crown, the glitter-wrapped wand to go with it, even as it leaves you short one palm to break the fall. What resistance you have, you spend against gravity.
A study in wreckage, your devotion. There you go again to the height of the last wall in the next fallen fortress, to meet the updraft, that it may lift you backward into the hour at your open hand.
I like that you used the term dime store. It’s been a while since I heard that. Is it still in use in your neck of the woods?
Funny you mention that, Jeff. I wondered if it was too dated when I drafted it, but since I was thinking about one of Klee’s mid-20th century paintings when I wrote it, decided to keep it in. And come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it said aloud. Maybe I only read it or gathered from song lyrics (I’m guessing Tom Waits), but its got such a great ring (and has been jangling around in my head for so long) it feels natural. Funny : )