A Dragon, A Dragon

There is a dragon in my head, speaking words of spider scales.
I listen closely, my back pressed against the cold, moist wall. I can hear it breath fire. I turn to face it and it tells me to stop.

There is a dragon in my skull. It holds a screwdriver, flat-head to be exact, in it’s clenched teeth. I see it glare. It is afraid.

There is a dragon in my nostrils. It is the only one looking at me as it sits curled in a ball, sewing its tail back on. I look closely and see its claws are dull and numb. It’s breath, long and droning. I see it’s spine, like a string of beads.

There is a dragon in my neck. It reads it’s cues off a script like a pro. Two can do this dance. I don’t like the tango.

There is a dragon in my eyes. Its skin is orange and green. I hear it whisper, but I cannot hear what it says.

Posted in Poems by Preston on August 13th, 2010

A Vision of Invisibility

I don’t want the vision of invisibility climbing ox hair when I am pulling strings out of its ears, pulling silk strings with microscopic poems written as letters to unfound lakes and hills and mountains.

Instead, I want grains of salt ripped apart by devestation and fear of fine-tipped felt, soaked in ink, dripping lavishly over melting canvases.

I don’t want the earshot of a once rabid dog searching my lower intestine for world peace; when a drought of the essence  of fully depleted hand-shakes stamps my clearly cultivated conundrum of a mind as blue.

Instead, I want perfect circle atoms to be sewn to paper flags and flown at midnight in dark bedrooms, propper to the resider, and used to awake stories from before the first twig was smashed. I want sunlit leaves and moonlit trees to race against sudden concrete walls and broken glass before being blasted into songs of our everyday creation, falling like planets as I sit back and stretch.

Good morning everybody.

Posted in Poems by Preston on August 11th, 2010