Fevered Ream (Prose Poem)

[Note: the following poem was originally published in the Quarterly Speculative Poetry Magazine Eye to the Telescope on Oct. 15, 2016.]

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Against a heat-lightning veneer of 130-thread count you slip from your die-cast sarcophagus comatose to ghost, soul tethered to body like a dangling tooth a child is not willing to yank; 

don’t know that you’re dead so your soul lingers in room 607 of St. Vincent’s Hospital like it’s got nothing better to do, lifting out of body, settling back in, tossing and turning in a hospital-standard twin-size adjustable.

You burn blue across an Elysian nebula hung high between the star of Bethlehem and another; a faint drawn route by an aura Luna moth seeking streetlight. You’re pouring pools of amber over aircraft contrails before clattering down, down: a blip on the Hubble as you land a far-cry from Mount Moriah and a scientist on the other end of the monitor blinks twice before uttering:

I saw one.

bezncoLeave a comment

Somnambulist (poem)

(by Daniel R. Jones)

“Put me to bed!”
the somnambulist said,
“Small wonder, it’s where I belong.”

But he knew as much
to ask- as such,
I wonder, wasn’t he wrong?

Nevertheless,
I acquiesced
and led him back to his chamber.

But the very next night—
the selfsame plight!
I followed to keep him from danger.

My breath short and shallow
through halls lit with tallow,
I shadowed with a strange elation.

Strolling slowly through streets,
(all the time, fast-asleep)
I surveyed his noctambulation.

Over cobblestone paths
we passed, at last
arriving on a star-lit lawn.

The moon garden seemed
in its midnight gleam
to rival Eden at dawn.

Queen Anne’s Lace
spilled over the place,
there in that botany nirvana.

There were snowdrops a light,
candy-tufts, lily-white,
all manner of nocturnal fauna.

But there on the periphery
came quite a mystery:
there were Sylphs rubbing Luna Moth wings.

They kneaded in dust
to give the insects their thrust,
bade them fly as the faerie song rings.

It’s what happened next
that still has me vexed.
In my mind it was vivid and real.

I thought I, the stalker,
and he, the sleepwalker
that I chased through pastoral fields.

But the quarry I followed
through woodlands and hollow
snuck behind me with a slow, noiseless creep.

And he shook me about,
all the time shouting out,
“Come back to your bed, you’re asleep!”

bezncoLeave a comment