“Oh, how did it go, don’t you remember?”
How did it ever begin? How does it always start?
Here in the middle, we’re already plunging,
always already tripped down the stairs.
Learn to tumble like a clown,
paint yourself silly with a smile;
maybe they’ll believe you did it on purpose.
If you make the landing, hit the ground on my feet,
maybe we’ll believe that it meant it.
(It’s so sorry, but we do tend to get
your pronouns mixed up here, they know.
Please excuse your eccentricities.)
Try to avoid scrapes and bruises.
Brain damage is rarely helpful.
Always wear a helmet.
Remember to touch the ground, eventually,
but avoid that as long as possible.
If it makes things easier, try to
imagine the floor is lava.
Excellent motivation;
no one likes to be burned.
If the crowd makes it too nervous,
excellent remedy: try to imagine her
in their underwear. But not too hard
imagine this, for too hard imagined
makes too hard to manage. (Experience teaches.)
Shape and image and shadow is world,
only dream, only cloud, only air.
Best not to take too serious.
Decay of speak make decay of think.
Decay of think make decay of act.
Act decay, tract decay.
Tract decay, all lost.
All lost, all already.
Born too late.
Never make the landing.
Try avoid injure.
Hurt is world.
Smile and ouch.
“Ladies and gentleman, may I have
your attention please?”
Dead.
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