of the dragon. A labyrinthine scowl
envelopes the undergrowth.
Bright penetrating eyes in chains
make up the mortar
of all this dream muscle.
Screens of neon flesh announce
the glyph lines of new songs
that can't be heard.
Wisps rising from the shores
where I once smoked.
Seasons tangled in the corridors
of stateless continents.
Slim reeds in a zone
of so much frozen milk.
The dragon's ears are bats
but its tongue is silk.
The sky hums. Its messages
are wires for the dragon's wings.
The heavenly machinery
instructed not to hurry things.
Sleep's healing lidded in fire.
Island of lost vital organs
stranded by the one who sings.
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