“I just get fascinated by people who assume that things that are imaginary have no relevance in their lives.” -Neil Gaiman
“My bag was lost and spent four days following me around the country.” -Neil Gaiman
San Francisco was a scary place
To be lost all alone.
I don’t think he lost me on purpose,
Neil will find me…someday.
Frantic, I kept looking out the window for the Line
That would indicate that
California had ended
And Nevada had begun
All I found was thick darkness
And then twinkly lights.
Where are you Neil, my American God?
Where are the important imaginary Lines?
Lost, because the Lines I believed in just weren’t there
when I needed them most, I began to pray
But, honestly, I was just talking to myself
Like the terminally lost do.
So I chose to believe I was somewhere else,
a warm beach, perhaps, because
The cargo hold is cachophanous and cold.
I am tossed through flying catacombs.
To keep from screaming
I started examining my inward parts,
The contents of myself chosen so carefully
and inserted into my chest by my owner:
Six black shirts
Three pairs black pants
Death and dying in the fabric of our lives,
Smelling vaguely of old cedar and young ghosts.
A new razor, so painfully sharp
A leather belt, getting too tight. Funny, there’s no comb…
The Gospel of the Infancy of Christ and an unbroken plastic fork:
A miraculous meal, and magical silverware…
A box of crayons at least a hundred years old
Whose points have been destroyed.
A stuffed frog who informed me
In the voice he stole from Vincent Price
That his name was Poe,
And a perfect piece of parchment
On which was written two words: