I was the middle, where the southern and northern winds met, where the house still stood, an inexact center. I was torn apart at the last moment, Dorothy, and my joints unhinged. The wind was a violence that whipped my hair, and when I settled, did not get all the right parts. My hand has never moved like the water again. A freckle on my nose I’d not seen before. This was not a condemnation; I fell, blessed. I prism in Oz, blur borders, become stateless.
I started for California, made a stop at the first place there was water. I received word that there was no gold left in Hollywood, not for me, not for you.
Dorothy, it doesn’t matter; we can go full burlesque if you want, a show in Vegas every night until you’re ready to return to Oz. There are lights on the strip too, Dorothy, and if we have enough pisco, I’m pretty sure we can find a rainbow somewhere along the way.
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