Lucky Duck

Be large with those small fears. The whole sky has fallen on you and all you can do about it is shout, dragging your fear-ettes by their pinked ears. They dance a number now: consequence without sequence. Lovingly broadminded in their realization and ruin, expert at the parting shot. Not so small after all, we micro to macro, swelling to the horror shows lifted from the sly ways of life. You, both scorched and shining in the terror of the equivocal moment, its box of cheeky logics rattling cold certainties out of bounds and into the plaits of a girl’s desirous ends. A little debauched, the flirt in a freckling, wondering spun to falling comes to this pert contract of a paradox: saying things because they will do no good, ringing change in frumpy mono-determination, fruity and fruitless. Exploded out of shelter, the tides come roaring in. Let in the hoarse Cassandras and the dull pain of the storyteller. You’ve needed those eyes all along. We thought them disconcerting at first, but it’s the only way. You live here now having exchanged etiquette for energy. Don’t be clever, don’t be shy! Participate today. Yesterday you say everything for their own sake, and soon enough, tomorrow, you learn a lot from them.