Some Pentacle
I was kneeling waste-deep in the creek
when I thought I�d consult my
plastic-coated
medicine cards.
Came up the dragonfly.
I consulted my cross-referenced medicine card hand book, and caressed the pockets
of my vest for some pentacle
or feather or
other piece of material component and said,
�Make me
deeper, lusty, ready, ruddy;
be my familiar, my token, my fetish��
and I read this story about a mighty dragon, millions of years or so ago, tricked,
by a debutante nymph, into becoming a mortal fly.
Must have been a pretty stupid dragon. It was a sunny day.
Bugs buzzed and fishspit foamed in gobbets on the water.
After while I drove home.
Later, lounging behind the tattoo parlor curtains with my friend Louie,
I laid out all 34 cards on the drawing table and said,
�What do you think a dragonfly stands for?�
He said,
�A dragonfly is a dragonfly.�
�A dragonfly doesn�t say anything in particular to you?� I asked.
�I always like �em on float trips, when you see �em fucking in midair,� he said. �They skim right above the water, two of �em stuck together.�
We were silent for a while. I looked at him, not satisfied, and then
Louie turned on the radio;
sometimes jazz is the only familiar.
u ins with my friend Louie,
I laid out all 34 cards on the drawin � ����
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