jesus loves wesley

i didn't believe in wesley anyway. except for the as-you-wish one, that 
farmboy with the curly ebony hair i used to laugh at and sent his roses to 
the sea...that was a long time ago. the first time i saw dolphins. on 
highway 40 we found the lizard in his tracks, i breathed fire for a 
while...it's fun to be a dragon. the scales get heavy, though, the second 
time around... so here i am up on bankridge avenue. i wish i were somehow 
closer to her tonight, the raven one, she's got tearstains hidden 
somewhere... lost girl, lost girl. jesus loved wesley but he never loved 
me. well that's not really true either. but something can be true, even if 
it doesn't really happen. i've learned that much. i've learned my feet 
grew a few sizes and i may never be able to fit in that glass slipper ever 
again...the headless coachman comes out of the fog and the pumpkin 
splinters...the pumpkin king has more poetry for me to read, the skinny 
kind, related to wolves, but only in the most domestic sense...so. i spent 
a weekend with half of the lost girls and my thoughts were never far from 
the boston-bound one who couldn't hop the train to join us at the 
waterfall when i let my feet hang off...she would have been much better at 
singing away the ghoulies for alestar, rain with her most angelic voice... 
mine just kind of squeaks and putters and acts like it might compose on 
opera for 2.4 seconds and then idles and dies. not as if there is anything 
transmission like in my voice at all, i can't even purr right...lesson 
five failed in the kitten book and i am still not going to get any 
dinner...the happy daisy girl. now there's a wonder on five wheels, 
there's another corner of the earth...she's half my age and twice as big 
as this gray in my head...she dances in the turpentine around my skull-cap 
and i expect at any day she's just going to show the world exactly what 
sort of magic she can do after all...i don't know. i think that the 
jupiter girl infected me this weekend, from rest stop after rest stop i 
recalled her infamous lack of bladder control...and giggled. she is never 
so far. an ocean isn't as far away as the rest of the world would like to 
believe... it's five a.m. and these conversations kill...but i can't even 
drive in my car. faster isn't even a factor. speed is as relative as time, 
and i have all the time in the world, time to get lost in north carolina, 
to wind up the serpentine road and find where eve went wrong, to sing 
irish drinking songs with alestar and ramble and rove wherever i 
wish...and the catwoman in her castle over the hill reminds me of my 
quest, my adventure, and i can only smile after all..."frodo of the nine 
fingers, and the ring of doom..." some nights you just remember forever. 
and some you don't remember at all. alestar will be the next michael 
flatley. just as soon as i send her some tap shoes.