the giant against the plot

i shall run before him. dressed like a canoe man, tipping and winking among old trees for comfort. my shirts will be knit of spiders, and i can carry them for a while, laughing and swimming.

i shall run before him. humming and farting like the tanker on the river. i will fill up yellow light with my talk, near jigsaw puzzles. i will stilt and stork and go to get the tea and the brandy.

i shall run before him. my poppies didn't think to blink in the winter, smelling like a city i see in mistaken stones and odd angles. i am always orange. and i put this question against the yokel. he blinks and grows colder. his pause is bend and gather.