Academia

Every now and again dream me feels like I need another degree.

I attend college again,

A dorm student, and did I tell my

Significant other that? Either way,

I’m already entrenched –

Sit with my particular clique

At a table in an open cafeteria

That serves alcohol,

Name to myself the campus places –

The Bar, The Field, The Slammer arcade

Always “the”, wherever you go.

It’s a beautiful campus, but

The president has his eye on me

For some power, ability, or knowledge

I possess. He hovers,

Always, and my drinks

Come laced, my friends

Are sent away, my schedule is

Controlled, for where I go

And why.

Bottled

As in-between dreams go, the ones after the big sleep but before you really wake up, this one got some things fairly accurate.

 

 

I’m working from home today

But ride the bus in,

Unwilling to let my girlfriend suffer

Alone. We stay aboard until

The train stop, hidden

Between shopfronts, in this beachside

Town. Hug goodbye, and I

Make my way along the rows

Of cobblestones and hanging signs,

Try to find the bus stop for

Return. While I’m here,

I search the stores, craving smoothies or

Something light to eat. One place has

Replaced their drinks counter with

A display of small, glass bottles –

Clear, and blue, and some of them black.

The woman behind it tells me she can

Tell me what’s inside, but I

Pass on – Whatever liquid lies within,

It isn’t something I want.

Fireworks

From October of last year. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I’ve only lived the bunk bed dream in my dreams.

 

 

Our bunk bed stands outside,

Under the stars, and we only

Use the top. My girlfriend climbs down,

Something to see, she says, and runs

Into the trees without me. I stay, and

Watch as the firetruck screeches to life

Down the road, heading toward

The sudden explosion of light from where

My girlfriend ran. Red and green,

Fireworks – and something else.

She sprints back to me, just ahead

Of the racing cloud of dust and shrapnel.

Her mother, she says, told her to look at

The fireworks show, but there’s been

A problem. We pull the blankets over

Our heads, and huddle,

Safe and breathing filtered against

A sandstorm of debris.

It’s comforting, even though I know

One finger outside will maim me.

Catch Up

Fittingly, I’m also playing catch-up after about a year of not remembering many dreams, and not writing the few I did. This one’s from July of last year.

We move along sand,

A thick bar flanked by calm ocean.

I’m failing to catch

Up to a cat, a game I play

With my mother behind me, a guide

Instructing me how it’s done.

But the cat

Crosses a chasm of water,

A narrow stretch between one bank

And the next.

The water is clear, but deep,

Miles down and full

Of large fish, swimming

Softly by. I don’t want

To join them, but my mother asks

If I can.

I say, I don’t know,

The water yawning down and

Down, deeper than whales can dive.

We turn back, and watch a crab

Drop itself off a ledge of sand

And fall, beyond sight, into

The depths below.

See? I say.

Look

How deep.

The crab, I know, must have known

What it was doing, letting go, but still

I can’t help thinking

It’s been eaten.

The sand crests, and I close my eyes,

Slide downhill blind and let my cat

And mother guide me.

Level 12

I do a lot of monster fighting in my dreams.

 

 

The mall is

Overrun –

My small squad and I tasked

With the clean-up of its

Monsters. We work from low to high,

Start in the basement levels and move

Through the food court on 4, where we

Meet a frozen yogurt girl who claims

Level 12 is lost to spiders.

I imagine their jeweled webs,

Tense as silver, dripping

With colorful clotted gems,

Blanketing the mannequins and racks of

Fashionable clothes, high-heeled shoes,

Creeping thin fingers toward

My partner’s sleek new car.

“We shouldn’t go back where we parked,”

I say, and though she agrees, we

End up there anyway, on level 12 of the garage

Where surprisingly, no webs stick to us.

The clothing store is clean, and busy,

And she says, someone’s done it.

Someone’s killed the last of them, reverted time

Back to when there were no webs,

No lives lost in spinning.

We stand in the bustle of a standard mall garage,

Suddenly only patrons.

Teleportation Is Never as Easy as You Think

It’s been a while, even since I had this one, but it’s stuck so now it’s stuck here.

 

 
I need to get to class, but

I don’t know where it’s held –

Stop inside a coffee shop, and find

The building’s several blocks away,

Too far to walk. So I

Hit the bathroom, close the door and make

A teleport of the wood,

Reopening to

Not the street I want, but

A veranda, high above

The lawn of a sprawling mansion.

Children play

Tag in the green grass,

Two of them, their dark

Hair and coats slashing

Past the windows as well,

Darting between the heavy-leaded

Panes indoors, and sitting

Across from me, staring

Over tea.

Their dark marble eyes

Tell me if I do not fix

The loop of time their

World’s become,

I will sit and drink from white

Cups forever.