I’ve found myself writing a lot of side poetry while I work on the novel. I think there’s something about putting together a longform piece that makes a part of my head want to shoot out short, snappy little bits.
This is not like any Dragons, real or imaginary, in my book. In fact, I hope to avoid meeting this particular serpent altogether.
I live under a mountain, like a dragon from a book
But that’s not the kind of dragon that I am.
I am the kind of dragon that’s been eating little mammals
Since well before your species began.
I am the kind of dragon never featured in your dreams
because if you remembered me, you’d never from your dreams Escape.
Because your world is a tiny one, made of fragile things
And stuck together with plastic bits of tape.
I am the kind of dragon that lives under your Seas, deeper than anywhere you can find.
I am the kind of dragon who will someday eat your moon.
Think hard about me, and I will eat your mind.
I am the kind of dragon that’s the lizard in your brain,
Setting off the deep instinct to run.
Stretched out in full, I’m a dragon who is bigger than your world.
Be grateful that I’m content with the moon
And do not
plan to eat your Sun.