j. a. tyler

and the sky fell

Bring it down he called and the sky fell and crushed him. The sky sloped downward at such an angle that it mangled him. The sky plummeted. A strong metal bird. Wing-locked. The sky fell on his head and burst his brains onto an adjacent sidewalk. The sky made him graffiti.

He was a turtle tucked into his own legs and there was nothing saving him except his shell. But his exterior, the parts that should have been rough were polished smooth and thin with rubbing. It left him vulnerable. Crumpled his shell like a front bumper. He no longer existed.

But there was nothing special about him. Apart from his being a turtle. Or his rubbed skinny shell. The sky that he called down upon himself. So being crushed didn’t really mean anything. The loss of another turtle. The devastation of another man. The misplacing of another sky. Nothing nothing nothing new. Just another sky coming down.