My Horse.
I fell off my horse last week.
You can laugh, I can take it. The cloudiness of humankind crossed the prairies of my backyard and blindsided me. Large, blue-black cumulonimbus brain folds swept in and unleashed their fury on me. In the swirling squall’s stroboscopic confusion, spurs and bandolier collided as jodhpurs split along the ass crack that evolution granted us all. The genuine comedy that accompanies a broken human.
Reeling thoughts of dark intentions overtook me as I fell. I believed evil was reaching out in the lightning strikes, through flashing man o’ war tentacles extending down from heaven. I might have even mistaken you for a demigod intent upon my destruction, undoing the definition of all that is good.
To be fair, I wear weird glasses that sometimes see a cloudiness that isn’t there. The focus gets stuck on films of what people might think. B-movies specifically crafted to induce doubt.
I fell off my horse and lost my mental footing for a few moments. (Suburban cowboys cluck lightly, both understanding and impatient, always anxious to get back out on the range and reawaken to a plate of beans, the coffee grit stark upon a clean porcelain cup.)