Somniloquy
This selection of poems deals with dream/nightmare sequences I experienced a couple of years ago. I felt the need to write down what happened in my sleep due to the strange nights happening so often. Sometimes, reality finds itself in a blur.
Series Cancellation
Nocturnal projections don’t possess my eye in singularity
as feature presentations run with preconceived formulae
predicting patterned plot points like Pavlov picking
a puppy to pressure into certain action
upon the tapping of his metronome.
Cycles that taunt me come more schizophrenic
in nature than the average may say.
No grand purpose to gather
but Freud often argued otherwise.
Just last evening,
I dreamt a pair of blondes
came with desire to frame adultery.
One resembled an ex of a friend
lost to the troubles of jealousy.
She mounted me nude as I sat on a bench,
the other prepared her phone
for the flash, but the moment passed.
My flustered hands had grabbed her bare
foot and snapped
her leg right in half.
Switch to my mentor flatly declaring,
You’re not a good poet.
A signal that I lay
in another episode
of the arms of sleep.
Somniloquy
Vibrations resonate in my dormant larynx
a haunting sensation of sound
while the rest of my flesh
strives for sleep.
Syllables mashed into gibberish
like a casserole of thought
fighting for independence
from the terrifying visions
latent in my cranium.
Can it be my autopilot mind
stuck in a self-induced purgatory
screams out effortlessly
so someone may wake the host body
before the creatures
who I’ve birthed
while communicating with
the dark dimension
rip my cage apart
and flay me for abandoning them
every time I open my eyes?
Paralysis prevents shaking
the apparitions that drive me
to speak.
Seeking Salvation in Sleep
I’ve traded the God of my Baptist raising
for the Sun which wakes me
from trembles and quivering trepidation
my nighttime hours force feed me.
Numb as chemicals allow,
librarians within search files
tucked away in long forgotten spaces
hoping to discover the face
which has no more tears to weep.
Come forth, O Lord of Old
out there upon the cirrus
or within my mother
who longs to see you, too,
if by chance you do exist.
Cast aside my struggle
and focus on her broken body.
She’s not ready to vacate
our lives quite yet.
If I’m mistaken,
please forgive me
as you have already done
in scripture read in repetition.
Humans have doubt
with some of even weaker faith.
My mother stands strong
even when You have given
many reasons to convert.
Both of us hold
the notion of premature death.
Some blossom and descend
in a single season.
Two girls carry me through
night terrors and daytime
madness.
Let us live
so we can be there
for them.
Another distorted mirrored image
traverses the landscape
imagination creates
while the shell is on rest.
Praying to You to solve my problems
seems selfish to an extent,
but if You’re there
somewhere
watching this unfold,
You put me in my predicament
of suffering and numbered days,
and I have the right
to be pissed about it.
Portrait of Christ on bedside,
cross of crucifixion
just outside the door.
Our house stands in belief
as the avatar of altered states
commits blasphemy,
torching pillars and hymns
until my mother walks again;
until I can wake.
Little Boy Blue
Little boy blue hiding behind the hamper doesn’t want
you to look him in his face. His eyes
a bit faded from decay. See, little boy is blue
due to the effects of being held
for a half - hour under the stinging water.
Little boy blue weeps ever long in pregnant silence
as we dance in dreams filled with every hue
but blue. See, I can sense the sorrow
seeping into the room like a tub
overfilled and letting its contents run all over.
Little boy blue left unwanted by a mother
suffering post-partem or just done
lost the will to protect her own from death.
Who can know? I am stuck, stretched
out on my side of the bed and remain numb.
Little boy blue continues to cry through the night
as newborns often do when hours draw late
and feeding is on their underdeveloped minds.
See, I am the only night traveler who can hear
the call of this ghost when I whisper and point toward the boy.