The Dragon

The dragon walks to bring you luck now. In actual fact, she walks to travel from place to place using her feet. She brings luck though, not on her back or in the fibers of her sparse coarse hairs, but in a flaming pearl, a surrounding sphere that covers and reveals. The dragon watches the vicissitudes of life move like traffic through its grid, calmly breathing her cigarette-warm breath, crystalline vapors drafting across the troposphere.

The dragon comes to hear the burstings of firecrackers. She loves gunpowder, lychee and neatly-folded napkins. She will incinerate you if you only ask. The dragon has arrived with her prince regent The Rat to wish you a Happy New Year. For her part, the hard-working Rat brings aggression, wealth, charm, order, pestilence and atrocities. It's going to be that kind of year.

This time, the dragon has been called by your silence. Her gentle heart (or hearts) beat throughout the rain, bright pantograph sparks and scattered shadows on the passing underbrush. She knows the song you want to sing, warms the air you cannot touch and sears a path of light through the brambles and thickets of time misunderstood. It's going to be that kind of year. All happiness to you.