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Mark Cunningham
nightlightnight
Mel Nichols |
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| 9-11 a.m. | ||
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In
comics
what people say appears in transparent balloons, as if inflated by their
own breath. Man standing next to his word: Confucius would love
Dogwood and Blondie. But I'd like to say something that isn't a
straight line. I want my speech balloon solid, air-tight, maybe with
reflecting glass, like an astronaut's helmet. Anyone knocking wouldn't
know if I'm inside or not. I like those calms not even canned music
enters, not even a favorite tune traipsing through, as if I were Neil
Armstrong, descending a ladder rung by rung to press a footprint into
dust that will never blow away. Never blow away. Someone always calls
my name before I can make that little leap.
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