fever dream

bye bye, blackbird
have you any well

if I wanted to talk, I'd talk
if I wanted to sing, I'd sing
if I wanted to walk, I'd take a walk
if I wanted to sleep, I'd take a drug

and as I sleeped I dreamed of
honey in the jar
flowers between paper
Rebecca and the Well
a tansy tonic
intinctured saltines

sirens sing in the silence
calling me to calamity
lulling, culling
lulling, culling

someone sent standing waves of sand

to smash on the side of a placid sea

and divide the proprietal from the accipital

I can fear the sound of the underground trains
it heals like distant thunder

slift across seven centuries of dream

a futon afloat on the ocean
awash in the steaming brine
tossing about on a sunless sea
a sheet wound around me
like a story too long to tell

I hear bees drip honey straight into the jar
I have syrup for my bun, courtesy Mr Sun

you call to sleep, but sleep don't come
and when sleep come, it come like a freight train
heavy fraught with every little goddamned thing

you stand at the bottom of a vacant dry-dock
while sky-hooks maneuver great steel beams
into place above you

the sound of a klagson clanging in the hullen half of my head
the smell of something burning in the sullen side of my sinus
all of my joints joined together in rowdy rebellion against any possibility of comfort
cold wet rags burst into flames when they touch me
as if they're soaked in butane
and I am a glow plug

yessir, yessir
dream times cull 

Palms

As we lay in the shade by the whispering sea

We gazed at each other with puka shell eyes

Held each other in arms of maile

Kissed each other with plumeria skin

Loved each other with hearts of palm

Slonombifer

The inhabitants of Slonombifer go about their lives in a perpetual state of sleepfulness, never laughing, never dancing, never mourning.

When you visit Slonombifer, do not tell your story, for the discharge of your burden will dispose you to its lap of repose.

Some who read this will say: "Ah! My hometown. I have vague memories of grey skies and gauzy twilights."
Some will say: "I detest the place, for the water tastes like death."

Sapezabezit

Do you know Sapezabezit?

It has only two gates -- one east, one west. When you approach the east gate, you will be greeted by two children: a boy wearing red, and a girl in blue. The boy will smile, and the girl will wave.

Inside the city, you will find sellers of bread on the left, and traders of silk on the right.

The women do not speak, and the men do not dream.

This city was famous for its resident, the Mage of Sapezabezit, who was the first person ever to hypothesize that our language shapes our dreams. He would interview the merchants who passed through his city -- people from across the known world, from Mongolia to Gaul -- and ask them about their dreams. He found that, as a broad pattern, Greek speakers dreamed one way, Chinese speakers another, Ethiopic speakers yet another, and so on.

The Greeks interpreted the name thusly: sape = knowing; zabe = intuiting; zit = divided.

The Mongols say that the name refers to the city's iconic dish: a leaf of bread beside exactly two grilled cutlets of lamb.

When you leave Sapezabezit at the west gate, a boy will give you water, and a girl will give you a polished blue stone.

People will not believe you when you tell them about Sapezabezit, but you will dream about that city forever.