Ether Pan


Tweakerbelle is hooking in the dawn
wrapped in a faded blue blanket,
her eyes wide open like an abandoned home.
You didn't even see her as you sped by,
high on pixie dust and wanderlust.
Captain Hooks got you chipping crystals on Haight St.,
your lost boys still brooding in the clubhouse -
a nest of pirates stranded in an urban fairy tale,
written by a hack writer on NodOZ and a deadline
(disclaimer: brains have been changed to protect the ____* ).
Pixilated jags of Sparkle, scams, skirts and confiscated snakes and always one more after hours party to pretend.
Is that a feather in your cap or a skull and cross-bones?
Your gray hairs are rude testimony to the passage of Time
and that Old Gators swimming toward you
with his jaws open wide.

* innocent, but there are no innocents here

Copyright 1994ish Victoria Vaughn-Perling