Stoned out of their minds on Hobbit blood,
Snorting Dwarven gold,
Dragons getting the munchies,
Eyes bugged-out and rolled
From side to side in lizard slide
Stark with spark in threatening arc;
Wiggy as wizards and twisted as twine,
Penumbral beasts grown bored of myth
Beyond the barrier line.
What alchemy could burn a blood
That lives to father fire?
What herb or weed could fry a mind
That swallows souls entire?
Heat and steam and Autumn gleam
Stoked and smoked, by blood invoked
Ticklish and tipsy and sordid and strange
Dwelling two inches inside your left ear
Beyond touch of time or change.
–And slapped by reality’s cosmic broom..!
“Shoo! Shoo! You nasty things!”
Alien eyes glow crazed in darkness
Closet walls chafe green-scaled wings
Spaceless room and breathless tomb
Hid by lid and trap and id—
wished away by generations,
confidently thought destroyed,
they’ve found a hole
“Under The Nether Bed” ..1997, I believe. It was before I read Terry Pratchett’s “Guards, Guards!”, which (this is not, I think, a spoiler) also deals with the question of where Dragons really got to.
I could definitely write a book or two of Dragon stories; but I don’t know that it’s what the world needs. Besides, not all Dragon stories are necessarily Villainpunk, and I think I want more Villainpunk in my life.
And I don’t want to reveal too many of the secrets of Dragons.
They don’t tend to like that.