Our Legs Crossed in Just the Right Way

Our Legs Crossed in Just the Right Way

Bolted to the headstart, we were going to the galactic center of a Tootsie Roll Pop and licking every center from the inside out and there was nothing the scientists could do to stop us. We’d smudged the spaceship windows with our noses looking out at the stars and planets and asteroids and other celestial bodies and gotten our kicks out of frost we’d gotten in return. I’ve given a pony something to think about when I gave it a sugar lick and there were pouring rain daydrops giving me lonely, lovely science fiction misgivings.

Only down low did the happy hang glider hand grenade go pigeon smiting and fuck all of a Saturday — it was awful big of you to show up before breakfast was quite over. I’d had eggs and toast, though bacon’s not been on the menu for some time. I like pancakes and waffles mostly, but you’ll never take the secret recipe, my friend! We’ll see what tomorrow holds for us. It’s a golden opportunity to give sunshine the rainbows it deserves when rain takes the thunder away. It’s a literal moss rolling go home to trailer and it’s living better through chemistry. I like the way you think of the talking points twice before you make your voice heard and it’s giving me up for glowing go cart somatic tryst lambasted collared green tomato syrup. Right? I was saying before that I’d say it again, and then again we were over it before we knew it. I know it. You know it. We all know it. It’s jangly and jingly in the jungle and we germinate torpedo sandwiches that start warfare between islands and continents rife with begonia escargots.

A birthday pencil given in sincerity for real men living in a lounging chair on the beach somewhere that had atrocious customer service comment cards left for the personnel and I’m still tipping because it’s the right thing to do. We depend on those wages, all of us, don’t we? Sin is death, so they say, but I’m not taking charge of the yoga department until we get some stretched ghosts, pronto! I’m sitting in for the diabolical shit storm council members who couldn’t be bothered to wash their faces on a Wednesday. It’s a load of crap that can’t be concerned with circumference. Hold it loose with the laser tag simpleton if you would get alone before the statue that’s got dithered pinions and devices gathering light from lampshades so there’s nothing lost in translation. I type and mistype because my fingers don’t know where to place themselves. It’s not a problem, though. I just go back and do it again when I have time. Don’t we always have time? I don’t feel like I do, but that’s because I dawdle. Always dawdling. It’s doodling for the brain, I guess, when I can’t stretch past the bedpost today and strangling worse before somnambulist a greasy spoon losing ground before the big match. I’m noodles on scraps and bacon again rears its hog head though I’ve not eaten it in decades. Tomorrow, I’m going to bake a smelt cake and sandwiches made of fingers. I pop on the pole position and race before lunch to the next time. Sacred cows and Jones and Dows with industrial averages can’t build atomic bombs before we get time hostages with Florida ain’t nobody going to tell me what to do, stepchild. I’m wobbly when reason speaks to me.

Where’s a vampire when you need one? A good, solid apparition that doesn’t know when to quit. Will there be singing under ground six feet from here? A blind man buried is counting the minutes until he rises again because there’s dancing going on above him. We were sleeping on the countermeasure with a bolt headed thunder and lightning glowing with pride at the Saturday we spelt and slept and spooned with reason for the sake of forking. I wobble, but I do not fall down. I will deep sea dive for fun when the submarines aren’t sunken so deep. Holes gaping into the void where mermaids and monsoons can’t reach. I was raining in my own heart because it was sunken, too. Go and grind up a house for firmament, because we can fly by walking with our legs crossed in just the right way. Could you ever feel the heat of the sun from ten thousand fathoms deep? All children grow up looking sunward and we forget about what’s just beneath us. Do you know journeys unfulfilled? Destinations can’t keep you at bay forever. You’ll arrive, someday. You must. You will. And that’s spectacular for all of us! Keep the dreams on waking and we’ll share them.

[Image by Jack Delano, shared by The Library of Congress]

About Robert Glen Fogarty

Sometimes I'll take the wrong bus just to get out of the cold for a little while.

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