a great shimmering beast, a white dragon stretching across the sky — smoothly, glissando from star to
star — then slinking to the earth, very low to the ground. it prefers cities. it prefers discarded bouquets in
psychiatric hospitals. it snakes from ward to ward, the scent of drying, rotting, romantic twelve-dollar
bundles of roses trailing it like cans strung to a newlywed’s car, and calling just as much attention to
itself, despite the stealthy manner in which it moves. sometimes, the dragon needs a home. sometimes,
that home is in your mouth. it tastes like Persian love cakes and Gitanes imported directly
from the 1970s, maybe even black coffee if you get lucky. and by the time you go to bed, you find your
mouth empty, the aftertaste vaguely celestial, chalky with moondust. you are left only with the urge to
watch video after video of the Apollo moon landings.
Click here to read Melanie Goulish on the origin of the poem.
Image: As The World Turns by Larry Farley, licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
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