Tuesday, December 30, 2014

CLARK KENT

Nervous and ungainly—the small boy
nevertheless liked to imagine 

himself—a natural
born runner.

Running up
and running back down
again—faster 

and faster—all to get better
and better,
so he thought

at being superior 
at running faster.

Until—one day he
realized he'd made such unprecedented 
strides

in that department,
that he could no longer 
detect any

notable difference—between 
those instances 

when each of
his two feet 
struck earth

and the ones
in between
when they didn't;

and all this, of course 
began—
to make the little man quite nervous 

all over-
again

that his keel had become so perfectly 
even—
as to be boring.

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