All telling words (Red Dragon II)

dsc03269All telling words, telling of all that was to tell of having studied every last scale on the dragon’s back. Bad ways and worse methods. Thoughts of mockery. What to do with the dewy rose inspiration of an early morning investigation?

A tormenting treatment, a red back, unshifting. Patiently blood warming, who dares cower in leafy shade? Red dragon, sleeping rock. Harsh cemetery, dry scales. Cling to the walls, pray for midday plus one. When will the street be half covered with cool.

See the rocky back, via alley after alley. Side street. Burgandy back. Lifeless lizard, soothing sun. Take the overseer’s piercing ray, perhaps the dragon does, on another level. A blood warming frequency. Perhaps just waiting, resting on a soft white stomach on a cool valley floor. Drinking water from the river.

Somewhat shallow, call covering, tepid temperature. What of the cool breeze that fleets through the empty ribs of the valley? Chilling to a point. Firing its way through various flaws and weak points. Interstitial. Not fiery breath, nor smoky trails.

Where is its fire? Based on precious metals and stolen from within? Coin operated? The poverty of the people no longer freezes the fire that used to burn inside. They ignorantly clipped innocent wings. Yet they will fly once again. Soaring the lengths of the Andean aviary, power ever returned. Lived to see another day.

More than one gunfight took place here, more than one reason put the dragon there, the choice of all the world. Option, to sleep in Tupiza. To cleave not the wanderlust surgically from this man’s very incentive to live. Under any words, low frequency breathing and seismic inquietude. The red arched back in pretence of rock hummed a frequency. The real treasures that shouldn’t be mined, a dragon’s diaphragm at its resonant frequency. Only the few know the sound, despite us all hearing it.

Which will find the truth? He hopes all. He hopes none. He hopes for the revival of the red dragon. For now nothing is known. To walk to the neck, climb the head in the mind. Aim for the white cross shallow in the dragon’s nape. Fall in the mind’s eye, blank of oxygen and struggle and vertical efforts. Reach, arms thrown, looking for support, around the shoulders of the cross. It was weak, its basis was basic. It folds. It breaks in the arms. The wings are liberated.

Advertisements