The older/ i become/ the more/ i believe/ in dragons
Swaddled in a blanket
of green smoke
I believed
yet did not fear them
their scuds of flame
benign as moonlight
on my amianthine skin.
When the time came
I ditched them easily
until not long ago
when I found one
smouldering
in the garage
its breath reeking
of hot rubber.
I tried to slip away
but it spotted me
its sickled eyes
oiled by amber
membranes.
Since that day
we have drunk
Oolong together
deconstructed Derrida
even spun around
the church steeple
a time or two
and though it has kept
its flambeau capped
in such a highly
flammable area
when the raven
taps on my window
I will be cinders:
gleanings and bone -
a grim ending
to any fairytale.
