Dorothy —

They wrote:

 
on your door, but
folklore & myth are natural,
as natural as falling into
sleep under poppies, as love between you
                                           &           me. We have become

                   historical, we Are the old story now new.
                   Dorothy, we have more
         in our hearts than all of human creation.
In a few generations we will be lost or
                                                                           we will be golden.

Dorothy —

Your home is not the grey the gross the gone. After all, you can bring everyone you love to Oz but you cannot make them wear heels.

Hold my hand, Dorothy, let us prism, change the lights, blur the borders, become stateless people. I wanna write lyrical but

all I got is magical. Dorothy, you asked me to tell you i remember.
and                 I do
                                          I do
                I do.
                Do you?
I am whited out Dorothy, I become background. DOROTHY CAN YOU HEAR ME? I Fade I Fade I Fall, Sweep Me Up, I Pray for tornadoes.

Dorothy —

Who      was      he
who    told    you
that   you   can’t
remember?     You
are made of spirit
&  sound &  when
they hook up the
machines,       you
reverse the elec-
trical  charge.  I
hiss  as  the  suits
walk     by,     run,
hide,     the     sparks
will      find      you.
They     talk     of
war,  they  think
they’re      funny,

             but we’re the ones with unknown thought
             patterns. They are missing bones & Organs &
             didn’t even notice. We are recreating our
             histories & it all begins with the sparkle in our eyes.

Dorothy —

Do you realize you could be the last of the miracles? The ochre runs through your veins. Breathe out:
                                             the air shimmers. Someone touches
a screen with purity & we can
                  have that again;          purity & glamour &
a new hope,             what other moral is there in any story?