sprung from the waxy lava of a volcano,

crawling slowly

shoulder to shoulder with the thunder,

and on the back of the tender lightning,

notated in so many perilous essays,

and tailing so many perilous meteors,

and you, and more and more forest fires.

There you were, perilous you.

dragged out of the flames , born from them

Bright because of them.

Kicking and screaming with some of the other receipts, some of the other drafts,

and more and more forest fires,

kicking and screaming with them.

The tape is stuck here, so too is the narrator.

The tape is stuck here, so too is this narrator.

You were careful not to miss the turnout, the scenic overlook,

the mystery novel,

or the sequel.

In the ring you are nothing, on this mountain you are nothing,

you’ll miss the cues from your corner, and the calls that come from above , too.

The beginning of which was spoken word,

The crescendo of which was instrumental.

The middle part was mostly water, mostly,

We can head back down the mountain now, wheezing and wiping soot off of our shoulders,

rescued and recused all in the same paragraph!

All on the same mountaintop!

Chased by those familiar growling dogs from my dreams,

down that bleeding mountain.

They don’t burn quite as brightly as you,

or the forest fires even,

or move quite as quickly as the meteor.

We are lost in the weeds and in the clovers and our own dreams,

carving up this new road ; these new passions,

these new weeds, those new lenses.

We are wrapped up in the chase, warped by this chase now.

We are this chase now, incarnate and so fourth,

We are this chase now,, dog costumes or not.