“going out for a run one night he was
struck by a bolt of radioactive lightning,
which of course did not kill him, but
merely stunned him for several seconds
(his well-toned and worked out physique
allowed him to survive the potent energy blast)
but it did not leave him completely unscathed,
oh no! you see, once he’d come to consciousness…”
he was getting into the monologue, those buggy
eyes of his bulging out of his skull, not seeing
anything in front of them, but rather zipping
about, searching for the next words of his story,
perhaps in patterns of floating corneal gel.
she was loosening her restraints, trying to
stare past bloody bangs while he banged on
about his next great american adventure.
the knife was out of his hands; this was her chance.