2 Poems

A blue dragon sits atop a jar

of tomato sauce in my cupboard

covered in cinnamon, cardamom,

spiced smoke, an ember amidst pasta

and instant mashed potatoes.

The creature scuttles across cans of soup,

stale bread, finally launching itself onto

my shoulder. What does one do

in such a situation? I look over at the angular

face of micro-fear, a mix of amusement

and terror when encountering things like

small ghosts or werewolf puppies. But

its legs sneak themselves beneath

my cheek, nuzzling the scruff of shave-

less days. Perhaps dragons behave

more like poodles than like chickens with teeth.

There are many things I am unsure of:

the meaning of dragons, the light in a church.

The blue mound curls along my collar-

bone and slowly winks itself asleep.

I do not know where we go when

we dream or when we go in unending

sleep. I reach into the cupboard, grab a sack

of pecans. I read somewhere that dragons

enjoy tree nuts as well as flesh or bone.

Curious, I plant one near its slumbered

maw. A snaking tongue emerges beneath

waking orbs of orange, swallows it whole.

I can only hope that what I plant can grow

into something that will outlast me, rise

above me as dragons over so many myths.

marooned in flowers,

fully-stocked belly

full of jelly and joy

un-cloyingly sweet

like a just ripe mango

or tango performed

in the hushed kiss

of a guitar, novel

in its language,

speaks to the bones

that move about

like an artificial intelligence

of always-opening arms,

a wake in a storm

scorched from living

itself or maybe

the end of this joint

that is waning

into nothing

like a thief in the night

of soundless disappearance

where I learn to fly south

at a degree east or west

to cut off squalls

at an angle

like a rainbow

straddling a fractal

encountered on

particularly potent LSD

the last time I smoked

and a sea of salvation

sounds like an emptying,

but really,

it’s the place on 23rd

where we played strip poker

and learned how

to touch again,

a complex wave

washing over sweat

and the bliss of an after,

after, we got coffee

and I said that I love you,

which is a funny thing

to say over coffee

like a line about angels

or light in a church

that glows like the end

of a moment

where lips reach out

in prayer

for the quiet

stillness

only found

at the outset of forever,

an ocean

where I hope to be

stranded, marooned

in flowers,

breathing in dream