Daydreams Whilst Studying

four metals tokens
scratched beyond the work of polish
an eye only for blue and yellow
all the red is missing from vision
it seems dreamlike
the floorboards, like a handmade cabin
of the colonizing days
when man tried to tame the Americas,
and it cost him his life.
The boards are raw, untreated
grey and blue

my hand leans to them
one token, four in all
placed on one board,
four in all
at once the boards move
rotating like a turn of the hand
and the tokens are no more

a bear walks out on hindquarters
it moves like a son of man
snout up, snarling and sniffing
walks to my side, turns
suddenly sitting on a smaller bear
rides away slowly
jostling left to right
like a rider on a horse

a lady crouches on the boards
she has all the red
vivid and fiery like the dying flame
of a setting sun
her skirt and corset
soaked in the sun
laced with black
buttons black
black feathers adorn her hat
but her face is downturned
and I cannot gaze upon it
her hands raise,
gloved in white
one brings up an apple
a matching flame
and bites out of it
though I still cannot see,
I know it by sound

she cries out
her lips and chin visible
but for a moment
pale and cracking quickly
drying up, dying.
her clothes fall to a heap
on the blue-grey floorboards
no form to fill them
and the red sweeps over the room
as a pollen cloud over a springtime land
mixing with the color
to restore the room to fullness
And now it loses its dreamlike quality

And I snap back to,
and go back to reading.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

I am a child.
Barely able to reach the countertops.
The chariot has ventured across the sky,
and a blanket of darkness has rested upon the land.
I fancy silhouettes for beings,
the proverbial prisoner in the cave,
sleep no escape,
for my dreams are surreal horrors.

My mother kneels over my bed,
lowering herself to me.
I lie under the sheets,
my mouth stitched shut,
silent dread
of the nightmares I fear will come.
She asks me if I want to learn a prayer.
I say yes.
And she tells me to repeat.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
And God bless...

and she looks at me and asks,
"Who do you want to bless?"
And explains to me
that I'm wishing well for others,
And guides me through it--
as a good mother does,
teaching me to pray for family and friends,
and others in the world,
who are in need.

And we say amen.
I sit watching the shadows,
move across a bookshelf.
One I could not even yet reach,
that still sits in my room today,
crafted by my father's hands,
gifted to me,
holding now what has become dear to me.

The Mountain

"I came down from the mountain too fast," she said,
"forgot to use my telescope."
A mountain from a pop-up book,
stood giant and browned,
and she quickly scaled down it.
So I sat on a couch,
with her and another.
And the competition I under no circumstances desired,
for I disdained its dishonor,
played out in my dreams anyway.
Though I was given second chance,
it tasted of indecision.
And as I leaned upon her,
I awoke,
and the dream became a broken reed,
for in the waking hours-
it pierced my shoulder.

Walk On Boy

If the Temple is in the heart,
then the Pitt is the stomach.
And the incineration that removes it,
the inferno in the lungs.
A refrain plays through the willows-
a string of lines floatin' higher,
to cut the glow of a Georgian Crescent,
melodies and moons to soothe.
Walk on boy, walk on down the road.
And the sound of hammer strikin' steel,
rings out onto the lake
waves intertwine
with those of some creature movin' about
in the chaotic waters.

Anybody ask, it's the willows I shoot shit with.
As long as I've been comin' to 'em,
they're always there to weep with me.
And as high as I stand,
they always standin' taller.
Walk on boy, walk on down the road.
I just sit a spell in a spell
listenin' to my Paw talk about the world
and the men that turn against one another
Ain't nobody in this whole wide world,
gonna' help you carry your load.
The world is full of pretenders and liars,
slanderers and flakes, and a whole bunch,
of nobodies puffed up with hot air.
I exhale 'em like this smoke.
And take another drag of life.
You can't find a person,
whose bond is their word anymore.
Walk on boy.

I wish there was somethin' I could do,
to bring you back.
And if you're lookin' for a fighter,
I ain't gonna' fight another man.
But if you suddenly found honesty,
I got no way of knowin'
Cause your mind changes so often,
and your words are twisted and knotted,
and I can't unwind it anymore to find truth.
Feelin' pretty beat.
And I can't imagine God,
usin' somebody to teach someone else a lesson.
Ain't no good in wreckin' someone's life,
to help another.
Ain't no appreciation to be had,
if the first is left in shambles.
So I pack up, wander on down,
driftin' till death do me part.
But my feet are so damn tired Lord,
and I'm sick of this wandering.
I want a home.
Walk on boy, walk on down the road.

Whiskey Dreams

absorption too slow
I pick up the room
and empty it into myself
and the excess dribbles onto stubble
attempt to wipe it ends with--
a smear of salt and poison,
a raging sea of firewater
threatens to drown me
help me Lord, for I cannot quell it
and at last I sink

scent of cherry blossoms
exotic but familiar
like a lost homeland,
the sea is calmed at last
a soft touch and tone,
a nickname from my childhood,
whispered, both sweet and drawn out,
like honey.

the albatross' cry awakens me
A workshop awaits,
disheveled and hollowed out
now I wander in the land of nod
and a nightmare sets in.
The risen sun is here,
but I missed Lady Dawn.
I phase out
A West African asks us to write on our names.
Not sure why I'm here.

My name is short. It comes from a Poet's surname. It is said quickly, haphazardly, often with a smile. But what is in a name? The essence is not. Once my name was spoken softly, drawn out as a ribbon in the air, and I could see it wrap around me, pulling me to its speaker. But now it is silent. If it is spoke at all it is quick and violent like the sword, spoken through gnashing teeth and furrowed brows. It is spit out onto the ground and stamped upon. My name means black (from blsec). It is like a gangrene of rotting flesh in need of amputation. It is the midnight hour when there is no dawn nor sleep to be had. My name is Blake

ignore a room of people
for six hours
is quite the feat
sketched a woman I found instead
sitting on her own legs
looking aside
one arm resting on leg
the other, the ground
but her torso is missing

a core gone amiss
without heart nor stomach
and I imagine if it was there
that I might smell cherry blossoms again.
my own on fire, knotted and aching
but the outside cool as a cucumber
a smile or laugh every so often,
does the job
so nobody bothers me.
I'm jealous of the woman
for without my core,
maybe I'd forget
these whiskey dreams