You took away my stick, my star, my water-skin. Horse? I had none to begin with. You set me down in the middle of a trackless desert to follow in the footprints I hadn't yet made. It was a joke: the skulls I stumbled over all agreed. I was out there under the sun so long I came to hear their invisible laughter. Eventually, I got the punchline. And I laughed, too.
When I came back odd against all odds, standing in the place on the map that was no place at all, no one could have been more surprised than me. Somehow I survived by means of that joke, or so I surmise. I can think of no other reason. I made it my lifeline, my credo, my philosophy. My reason for being a being no one believes in.
I open my mouth: no one can hear me explain what can't be explained: a joke. But I'm here. I'm still here.
And still, like the sun you won't stop watching, robed in your nuclear fury, magnified in your profound disbelief that I could survive you.
Ha. Ha.
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