Field Trip

My body may have outgrown high school field trips but my mind sure hasn’t.


The class field trip is a sort of free

For all; find your way through the

City streets, onto the right bus and

To the right lodge, cross up the right

Stone-stepped hill. Then, if you’ve

Made it, you’re allowed a week’s fun.

It seems only my friends whose names

Start with B have gotten here with me,

Which should make for an interesting few



So I’ve started working at a Papyrus (one of many reasons why I don’t have time for as many posts at the moment), and also at my college’s literary journal. I know exactly where this dream came from.


We sell Kate Spade

At our literary journal

As a fundraiser, and

My best guy friend

From home helps. He

Chooses a set of gold

Bow paperclips, defends

Its classiness to the rest

Of the guys, but while I

Back him up, I can’t help

Finding it hilarious.


Sometimes I have really long dreams. Sometimes I’m a guy in them.


I’m the heir to the estate of

A man who’s got two wives, and

Doesn’t tell the second one how much

Money he’s got, or where it is. So

My dad has lots of enemies.

One of them, they say, is hiding

In the mansion, picking off the staff.

But Dad doesn’t just give me money to

Live on, so I’ve got to make the trek

Into the bowels of the place, to the safe,

And pull some out. He sends Consuela

With me, for protection. But as we reach

The first escalator, and she’s telling me

It’ll all be fine, and I can’t see over the

Edge but I know someone is there,

I’m the one protecting her.

Crouch down, because drawing nearer

I see the guy on the up, with a crossbow

And a killer smile, waiting. Consuela freaks,

And I’m kind of glad when she runs into

One of my dad’s trapdoors – hopefully not

One with death at the bottom, so it’ll

Keep her safe. But I don’t get to it

In time myself, pinned against a wall

Instead, with the guy’s hands across

My mouth, around my neck. I fight it,

But I can’t, wait for the narrowing of

Vision and breath. But then he says,

Right in my ear, “I don’t want to kill

You. I just want to feel your voice.”

I don’t buy it, but if speaking will get me

All the way out of here, I’ll say anything.


I have no idea what this dream’s about really.


They are turning our river into

A theme park.

Music plays at all hours,

The sweeping scores of pirate

Movies, and to either side of our

Highway bridge there are

Barges of mechanical stuffs,

Colorful but

Unknowable from shore.

It will bring in tourists, but it

Will not keep me.

Honeycomb Living

I’ve never been in a dorm like this, but I’m reasonably sure I would give walking through it a try if presented one.


She takes us to

Her dorm, a maze

Of doors not all

Attached to the

Ground. Like bees,

We climb the walls

With her, sideways

And nearly up-

Side-down to get

To her room.

She says go on, our

Own is waiting on the

Other side – But with-

Out her to guide, I

Cannot find

Where to place my arms

And legs to crawl,

Instead of falling.