Monthly Archives: April 2018


Always time for a first, in dreams…Don’t think there’s ever been dragons in my head before.


I’ve killed a dragon.

Actually, I’ve killed two, but this one

Feels more real, somehow –

The wounded thing, slashing

Its body against the stone wall, as I ran

A sword through its gold-shining

Scales. The first died nearly

On its own, crashing to its end,

In comparison to this one.

But there isn’t time to mourn it, or to

Come to grips with what I’ve done.

More are coming, and if we want

Any chance at surviving,

We’ll barricade ourselves in this

Church, with the cats,

Each door’s lock turned until

The sanctuary becomes a box,

And the ritual can begin.



Sometimes it seems just about everybody in my life is getting married at once, so I assume that’s what inspired this dream.


She stands atop a rickety platform,

Waited on by dressmaker’s attendants

As he makes his last overtures.

She isn’t happy with him, doesn’t

Love him, but he thinks if he

Just makes his case again tomorrow,

Christmas Eve, she’ll relent before

The actual Day on Christmas.

I’m a friend to her, so I can tell

The man is no one that she wants,

Climb the wobbling ladder to reach

The bottom of her skirts, and talk.

She doesn’t have to marry him,

I tell her, as small tears fall

From her eyes. She could cancel

The whole thing. She says she should,

The dress itself a monstrosity in

Starched lace, high collar, heavy skirts;

A prison she does not care for.

Cooking Troubles

Luckily this has never happened to me outside of dreams.


The food is done, so

When I go into the kitchen and find

The gas stove still flaming,

I reach to turn it off. But

The stove was off –

The fire simply burning

On its own, and when

I turn the knob, I turn it

Back on. The whole thing

Ignites in dancing flames,

Slick like oil themselves, until

The stove and oven explode.

I feel a push and heat

From the destruction, but not much else.

Have to explain, to my parents,

Why their kitchen is destroyed.

A Trip to the Museum

I can’t tell if I would actually want to go to this museum or not. Probably.


The museum is

Long halls, real wood, cream

Tiles, soft light

As the day fades.

We pass an exhibit that spans

An entire floor, the center dropped away

To make space for a host of flying

Warriors in battle, each with an axe

Or curved blade, their helmets

Winged, their bodies held

In place by wires.

We drop down a short staircase

To bounce in a children’s room,

With singing mascots of animals

From a picture book, that look

A little too creepy for adults

To find endearing.

We follow the edge of the room

And find ourselves in the real hall of

Animals, the displays pristine and vivid,

The taxidermy done so well it

Seems as though each creature could walk

Right through the glass, and back

To the wild.