Hovering over the yes and no, over the protectors inside and out; hovering over yesterday and no longer an option, the ancient aerialist, parachute open, hoped to begin life one more time. A long time ago decibel driven music of the Grand Canyon filled his head through celestial osmositic ever shrinking orifices. Landing on a singular tightrope emotion, the ancient aerialist folded his parachute in the shape of a caterpillar, not yet a Monarch. He looked around at the absurdity he always faced when landing, interested in his internal GPS navigator’s route to the next unscheduled performance. Hoping that this time, the audience will get it without cue cards or America style sign language. The ancient aerialist imagined that the audience for once, would wrap him in peace.
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Jess Nadelman is a writer who lives in Colorado. He’s had numerous careers in numerous locations.
Lightwood 