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The Paradoxical Demise of Calculus; -
by Craig Turnwall
for James Dunn
There is a parade. And everywhere inside of this parade is yellow. All of the floats are yellow; the costumes, flowers, banners, spectators' clothing…all is yellow. Even the sky is yellow, the bells in the church steeple are yellow, the dogs and cats are yellow, the air is yellow…all is yellow within with laughter - the pages in all books, of every language are dried and yellowed. This is passion frostbite - most toes have gone missing. Mr. Parade.
This is what I heard you say, when you weren't looking toward sun. Away from all the cotton candy, red kettle corn and apple blossoms. I'm also a walrus petti-coat.
From the avalanche I came crawling out from underneath the tow bridge to wipe a brow with a broken napkin…much to the chagrin of the crowd. Against their will of course. The dock men had a bearing of NNE; the trombone swell taught that canvas fritters were metastasizing in the wakes of store shop windows. Your eyes I would adventure to imagine. Or a complete conspiracy for the sake of scream broom sweeps. How the memories that day! Don't you remember how you forgot to laugh at me?! Again!
Oh, how it came to be. Yes, I know…it can be difficult to bear - but you'll have that old armchair again, I promise this time. This time you'll see change in rubber mallet incentives.
Goddamit!
"One word too many again," I said. Sadly.
How you swelled with pride…my dandelion catapult.
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Craig Turnwall
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