my unconscious is undaunted and reckless in its task
I lay amongst christmas tree refuse
spewed by christians effluence
building box car babies on stark platforms in the great plains
ouitlining the small cities
a market man  finishes the race hes stored his pride in his rumbling discipline
with the gentle constant pull of the aging reality
a turbid and torrid current milky brown with silt
the grey vericose sky

drawing himself on dragons he is flying over pine trees
the streamers lace behind him and twist
fingering the wind

the rabble dines below him
he travels toward the sun and jettisons any need for confidence
the dragon blows smoke through his smouldering nostrils
that shames the old men at the docks mouthing their sweet wooden teats
the rings seem to dance and color evades them
they are more they are singular and swimming
swimming in air

splashing in the blue
diving in the dark

as the boy passes over the town the dragon heaves his bellow chest
breathing fire
scaring cows
pulling gently on the reins
height of such vantage and perspective is gained as to crumble any hopes of heaven,
dismiss any creator, and fall back to earth where hot logic burns

he is the calvary triumphant
he is amongst the many
a captain of men
and calls over the masses to ready their weapons
and skilfully stab at their ridiculous hearts cleaving from them their colored cancers
that they might heave and breath with less weight
and emote with such force as to paint back in their pretty parts