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Pine sap pipe
In the deep spiked pine forests
On a walk you forgot you took
Snow up your knees
Twenty feet away
An enormous old house
Not abandoned, smoke from the chimney
Large windows, dark wood walls
A forest castle here for you
To explore perhaps
Eyes flash pink with sun light
Through the unlocked door
In the main hall
Taste the dust
Ancient carvings everywhere
A cough from upstairs
There by the broom closet
With chemical smells and an open door
There seems a staircase goes down
Let’s go down there
All kinds of paths and passes
Down in the basement
A maze of wooden tunnels
Full of paintings and the smell of cigar smoke
Down tunnel 783
More carvings
Ink drawings on the wall
A kind of sign language
It must be
Mouse, circle, person
I know that mark
Knock on the mark
Door opens
A boy with long hair
Fur clothes
Pipe in his mouth
Spear in hand
“What took you so long? Come in.”
Enter a wooden cave
A dozen people here
Lying on pillows
Smoke clouds and smoke rings
Hookahs and pipes and rolls of every kind
The ceiling made of fog
Lanterns and blankets on mystic carpets
A smell of lotus flower and incense
“You come for old man?”
A cleaning woman asks
White blonde hair
Short, with tanned skin, very friendly
You don’t know where you are
“Oh, well what your name?”
You don’t remember
“Let me help you Mister Name. I am Zophia.”
A handshake of cold purple water
Mrs. Zophia, how long have you been here
“More than most, I’m the only one the old man trust.”
“But she’s with us.” Pipe smoking boy says
He smiles
“She helps us, she’s the best of us takers.”
“But I no take anything.” She says. “I just help.”
Very confusing
“Take this.” A frog shaped pipe
Full of golden sap burning
Take a deep puff in
Give your sawed legs to Zophia
She’ll fix them while you float
You’ll need your arms though
To sway the sacred dance
The stars orbiting the earth
Twinkling like a bone wind chime
The rain makes feathers on your skin
The moon rumbles as it beats you with sticks
The eyes of a thousand fish open around you
Your spine bent like a jackets zipper
The lemon smell of lakes and kayaks
Brought to the land of cushions
Tangling with the pillow people
Zophia returns your legs
And chews a honeycomb
The sugar beetles vengeful but quiet
Soon she enters the cushioned land
Falling like a comet to her pillow
The piped boy standing strong
His shoulders straight against the door
His spear in his hand
A jealous god takes his eraser
And tries to scratch away the work of man
But Zophia and I cooked and ate his tongue
Into the room of the two tea sisters
They’ll give you stones for luck
And you’ll wonder why you weren’t lucky enough
Their cats pawing at your exposed muscles
Their dogs eating your bones
Their parrots pecking your heart and lungs
In a near dead heap on a leaf floor
Thankfully the flower rabbit takes pity
With you revived
Zophia with a tea pot
Shave the tea ones bald
And give them to the river god
And now the god is pleased
His smile like a new silver ring
So bury yourself in the garden with peace
Wait until the ants come
They’ll sting but they’ll never bite
Softly the smell of oranges approach
An earthquake leads into the electric river
Take the dragon boat of the blue fairy
Down the waves of forgotten seas
Zophia taking the sail rope
You paddling through the rocks
Past the toothed islands and coconut sharks
Strawberry ice cream in porcelain and string
A mammoth tusk perfect for sunglasses
Just as grass is to be dried
A march with roses back under ground
Down to the land of pillows
To make another adventure
With eyes tired of staying open
Before the sap will smoke out your nose
And puff into the ceiling
Copyright ©
Philip Preston
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