When you won the race, you had not been slow and steady:
1) You moved so swiftly through the trail, you made wind flurries that
swept the lance-leaves of all the Kapoks.
2) Your strikes were electrostatic. When your midfoot would land,
you’d crash the Earth like a mud log. Great gushers blew freely. I followed you by following the well fires.
3) You perspired molten plankton that then formed a mesocyclone.
Wall clouds rotated over wild cows by the path. I heard the rain behind me. I smelled wafts of cattle frying.
I finally caught you at the finish line, But you were sprinting still, in circles. Medical professionals arrived. Their conclusion was you had Forgotten how to walk. The moon began to twitch, and All was as hopeless as we thought.
So I volunteered as the rifleman And waved away the crowd to sally out. I hung all feeling on a nearby dying stump. It took a lifetime of shooting Before I got you through the eyes. My neck snapped as I felled you, Falling too, years of misshouldering My weapon and biting its scope That by the end I even gave up aiming.
I’d have wailed if I could have breathed. I must have missed a million times.
johnny paglino is a musician and author from tampa, florida. in his decade-and-change experience writing and releasing music, most recently under the moniker dolphins, his experiences with academia, addiction and tragedy during florida’s pill epidemic have given him a unique perspective reflected in his work, which deals with diverse topics such as tropicalia, child trafficking, political repression and ordinary heartbreak.
he currently resides with his dog, kaiser, in park city, utah.