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The Dreaming Chest (from the Surreal Sonnets Series)
Gently in sleep we search the seas of dreams, Traipsing upon submerged mountain peaks, Our fastest steps slow-motion so it seems. Does reason know our heart – of what it seeks? So sweet’s the air we...
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Icelus Calling (from The Surreal Sonnets Series)
We dream a dream ensconced inside a chest That we’re a flying dog named “Tiffany”. We fly beside a jet plane heading West, A blinking light is all that we can see. Then suddenly the skies explode in...
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Cracks in the Walls (from “The Surreal Sonnet Series”)
Our windows open to a wall of brick With windows of its own deep in its grooves. We see a pulsing motion, we are sick, For waving from each window, thirteen hooves! What demons live inside these walls,...
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The Ball of Legs
Some new tracks in the sand by Potter’s Mount, Four toes, then five, then six, then back to four, Each alternating step, a different count, They end under the lifeguards’ boat – no more. I turn to...
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[When I was dizzy Arkansas I thought]
When I was dizzy Arkansas I thought in overlong and intense barnyard scenes adapted from a Razorback I caught impossibly, in silence, without means of capture. Curving just a bit inside, I introduce...
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Laser Sight Tattoo Dream Sonnet (from “The Surreal Sonnets” series)
Red beams upon my chest in a nightmare which burn into my skin a strange tattoo – two turtles making love on a highchair, while underneath, a figure crawling – you! I know that I can’t put on any...
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The Fourth Chair
My sister left us, two months shy of nine, and I became the brother of a ghost who’d haunt our table when we’d sit to dine. My mother, fragile, felt her haunts the most. For two months, every night,...
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[My meat turns into dust as I recline] (from “The Surreal Sonnets” series)
My meat turns into dust as I recline, The ham, the steak, the pork, the chicken too, Not dry as dust, but dust – so white and fine; When I awake, there is a residue. My meat is now a powder on the...
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My Father Was a Tinsmith to the King
My father was a tinsmith to The King, A skilled craftsman, there was indeed nothing He could not make, or so we thought until The King was struck by madness and fell ill And wandered to our shop one...
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There Is No Explanation For Our Puss (A Contemporary Sonnet)
There is no explanation for our puss, Not on the Mayo site or WebMD, That would make sense for either one of us, an explanation received comfortably, For surely neither one of us has strayed Afar from...
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