Fantasy Haiku I

I
Honey song rising
from the river mouth, fine lips
of merfolk glisten.

II
Green grass is pooling
over water, which stirs when
heads rise on long necks.

III
Many thin-edged wings
filter the morning light, both
reticulated.

IV
Crack in red ceiling:
outside the cave, warm wind sweeps —
a dragon flies past.

Waking Up

Take me to a dream
I can realise.
Step back – just
that far and nothing further, for
my craft requires witnessing. Then
turn away. Feel
the warmth blubbering
out like fat escaping from meat
in the fryer, all
that is only a dream
escapes the dream.
A white cartilage skeleton of plans
of checklists all ticked off
remains in the pan
when you turn around
and I’m not there anymore.

Phantasie

She has pieced together a map
of holiday brochures to Thailand and
the Netherlands,
of a guide to your first bank account
next to an old, crinkled cake recipe.
She has stitched them together
with a fluffy pink thread from the craft store
and whispered to them her darkest secrets,
reclined in bed, the filament in her nightlight
injected full of electrons
to cast a luminescent green mushroom glow
over all of her oddities, all her desires.
She has made a map of touchable things
that crumble upon the jagged path
to fairyland,
to the spots that hover in her vision
after midnight.

The Trap

Dreams are germs.
We all crawl with
sticky dreams,
licking dreams
all over for
subsistence,
unnourished,
sensation-less
stuff-less dreams.
Dreams stick us
to substance-less
thoughts about
warm cookies
burnt and rebirthed,
phoenix of
our future:
when germs return,
dreams crawl back.

Dreams

I was chased! — the world was melting

a meteor shower of colours

shot off behind me.

 

The thing about dreams is

they never let you go.

 

And all the familiar topography of faces,

the map of girlhood, dug out again from some distant drawer–

And all the voices I could remember

came together, drove me down that corridor–

Would not let me go! The thing about dreams! — They never let you

 

reach the end.

 

 

Woods (where I’ve never been)

Over the hills and often unseen

Mystic thicket where ravens preen

Sprouted from whimsy, Jack’s great bean

These are woods where I’ve never been

Where all is held dear

By fair forest queen

There’s nothing to fear

Her just rule is clean

And through every year

These are woods where I’ve never been

Among those who value bravery

And kindness and love and not keen

To engage in toxicity

They are to me a distant dream

Blinking here and there, fleetingly

Just like some faulty lighthouse beam

For now, I sit in misery

Long for woods where I’ve never been