in just a wrinkle of my chin

i come in and out on dragons, breathing fire, muttering treasure and soaring miles between feedings, no, you and i aren’t so different, except for my dragon, and my sword,

lilac ages
come at me in stages
wages of mages
telling me to gauge it
and take it easy along the way 
since i’m makin’ sense 
of so many little cages 
i’ve kept waitin’ and waitin’ for a keyhole 
or a door to break it open
but no ones hopin’ anymore 
and brick by brick the store s’been closing, 
its hours shorter, its kindness coarser, its dryness duller 
and all around uses stranger and less cunning,
more a barter between magical creatures 
that don’t owe or own anyone or anything anymore, 
only useful for their curious shapes and powers 
that burrow, bulge, bop, or even bake 
those who threaten their faces, 
and don’t you worry about me, no, 
i come in and out on dragons, breathing fire, 
muttering treasure and soaring miles between feedings, 
no, you and i aren’t so different, except for my dragon, and my sword, 
and my i’m-not-gunna-take-it-anymore sort of grin, 
you see, it’s sitting right there in the lower corner of my chin, 
just ready to roar, to unleash terror, 
ready to open wide the gates and burn you at the stake, 
ready to fight and win, yes, this is the power in just a wrinkle of my chin.