Three Poems by David Wojciechowski

[In this dream I’m running a dream farm]

In this dream I’m running a dream farm and glue factory.

Dreams run everywhere.

Even into the glue factory.

One dream is on fire.

This dream burns down the farm, the factory.

The whole site is smoldering.

People smell it from miles away.

They wander wafting air.

They show up with graham crackers, marshmallows,

dreams of chocolate.

 

[There weren’t as many gunfights]

There weren’t as many gunfights as we think.

Showdowns at high noon in the full view of the public.

Maybe a dozen. Movies lied.

It’s the same way with stars they think they can explode and just that’s it but no they last and we see them long after the explosion or is it we see just the explosion.

For us an infinite explosion.

Almost. Almost infinity. Infinity asterisk.

Didn’t monkeys mourn their dead? Or stand guard over them. Or was it protection for the others.

 

[Boy wakes up]

Boy wakes up covered/surrounded in water under a red moon the sky blackened he runs to the

 

Morning tomorrow in that dream the stars will turn over

I will roll through the dark into next world

I will glow nocturnal in translucent waters

You will be able to see me from space

I will throw trees into oblivion

I will throw dominoes

I will throw dice

I will throw

I will burn the whole goddamn thing down and there’s nothing you can do about it. I will rise electric blue. I will defy the creature of habit and death and meals and cloud and lightning. I will eat the earth in a bite and start to choke. Same with the moon. I will kick the parellel imagination. The slant grow grass that bends your neck and you look for the

Broken.

On the counter beside the refrigerator was a batman bank she removed from the front of a cereal box. I don’t know why I see this as a last motherly act she did for me before leaving the empty house while we were at mass. It could have been for my brother but maybe he let me have it because he was older and I needed something in that moment. I guess I can’t even be sure she did it. Batman bank circa Tim Burton 1989. A bust of him with a stickered mouth. I remember our couch was still the grayish brown one. I assume she thought to do this for me, for some reason, before or after putting her last bag in the car. Though maybe she just ate some cereal and had to remove the bank.

We still kept going to church every Sunday for years.

 

 

***

David Wojciechowski‘s first book is Dreams I Never Told You & Letters I Never Sent (Gold Wake Press, 2017). His poems have appeared in Bateau, Better, iO, and Meridian, among others. A founding editor of NightBlock, David is a freelance designer and editor, and he teaches creative writing at Syracuse University. He can be found at davidwojo.com and elsewhere.

Image: imgur.com

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