I imagine you’re sleepwalking
while I’m intermittently dreaming
your whitish curly haired lap dog
dressed in holiday sweater
leashed and pleading to go outside
to greet rising curved moon
it’s another mid-winter night
and I roam from room to room
trying to track you down
but as usual you’re one step ahead
sometimes disguised
as three blind mice
other times the carving knife
january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the university paid him dearly to lecture
about his dreams
three days a week to hundreds of undergrads
recounting big winnings in vegas
trafficking drugs and humans in all kinds of worlds
and slaying fire-breathing dragons while
strolling through sherwood forest with
nothing but bow and arrow
like a time machine he dialed up
triangles and chains of events
and conflicts of interest
introducing the likes of mozart
and hitler and michael jackson
cameo appearances by jekyll and hyde
and the great houdini —
elvis and jesus christ and charles manson
quietly waiting in the wings
he used his hands and eyes
to amplify the effect of his words
which were spoken mostly softly
occasionally loudly
and infrequently quite scarily
many would take notes
others would use smartphones as recorders
but the far majority simply sat back
relaxed and indifferent
going through the motions as if
they were living his dreams themselves
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
three in the morning wakes
me like clockwork
as if the cock is crowing at
stars falling from the sky
was it fever or dream
that shook me wide awake
both former and latter
leaving me in a cold cold sweat
I sit up & shift to the edge of the bed
my feet unable to reach anything
this room is not mine
and where the door resides
I can’t begin to surmise
how do you escape from a place
that has no address
and how will I ever find the sun
if there are no windows to open
or cracks in the walls to scratch
october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
clearly he sought a connection
one in which nobody in the world
could ever have dreamed
how quickly one learns stars are stirred
beneath the belly of its creator
like a newly born burrowing mammal
drawn to its first light
and so he imagined there were only
three worlds to discover
the second of which
lies upon the surface itself
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nothing is real
not even the exception to the rule
to which you have seemed
to execute to perfection
I’ve chased down
many a dream with no end
only to pick things back up
exactly where you left them
you leap from tree to
tree with relative ease
repeating in my mind like a
hand-made picture show
I toss it aside
carefully behind a bush
thinking there’s a good chance
I want to retrieve it
I always tell myself
you should have told me
to stop swinging for the fences
a long long time ago
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I showed up with plenty of time to spare
so I ordered myself a beer
nothing was really happening and I began
to wonder what brought me here
perhaps we had met in a previous lifetime
and me being here
was nothing more than a memory
or perhaps I’m still alive and only daydreaming
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve not seen it all
this movie that weaves
in and out of close encounters
actors are not what they seem
on any kind of stage
whether supported on oak trestles
or razor thin wire
the money flows like milk and money
brewed and bottled on the black market
where trade secrets are available for sale
anywhere from one to a million bitcoin
sometimes I like to daydream
during the night
just to shake things up
excited to rehearse those parts
I’m least familiar with
may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is a shadow in my periphery
merely a glimmer of my future self
the moment I sense its presence
it reshapes itself and disappears
leaving behind a lingering desire
that which cannot be defined
interrupts my ordinary days with
perfectly placed subliminal messages
I’ve learned to decode and encrypt
slowly making sense of my former life
diligently uncovering its suppressed dreams
little did I know the shadow in my periphery
was nothing but an outcast heart seeking light
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I miss everything reckless
and I’m bound and determined
to make another run at it
barreling down river road
giving chase to the current
most times it’s impossible
to catch the leader (of the pack)
let alone decipher exactly
who put what in motion
even without all the facts
I’m prepared to move on
singing a song I’ve not forgotten
when once upon a time
I dreamed I was a little girl
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bounty on my head
keeps going up
or so I’ve heard from the
monotonous talking heads
streaming in the air
I’m feeling much better
since crossing the mississippi
heading east by northeast
toward an unknown place
where sanctuaries still exist
secret agent men
keep hunting me in my sleep
but I manage to elude them
by rolling over into
a new form of reality
I know every inch of concrete
and railway between
this world and the next
where I am destined to settle
into indescribable peace
february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s early february
but the calendar has yet to turn
there’s no snow on the ground
but it’s cold as hell
people dressed for spring and shivering
whiskey beginning to wear off
hands shaking for another shot
the sun never shined in january
it was a record year
without the sun I can’t dream (she used to say)
I get up earlier and earlier every day
thinking I might catch the sun somehow
but you live in the valley (she says)
oh yes I keep forgetting
there’s no whiskey in the cupboard
it disappeared that wintry night
they took away my baby
when’s it going to snow again (she says)
february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sky big and cloudless
I count the days of sobriety
looking down the track
all I see are sixes
rolling on down the line
paper hat stuffed in back pocket
patterned like salt and pepper
sporting paper suit and
folding paper planes
riding atop the dream train
kansas city’s but a night
or two away
its lights and sounds
pulsating in my veins
january two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they huddle around the fire
the little ones in front
wrapped in animal hides
and mesmerized by the flames
black and bedazzled
is the sky
spotlighting
exhalations of storytellers
reading from unwritten books
soundless nights accentuate
the reality of dreams
projecting and protecting
the history of a people
at one with the earth
december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
trees speak in your sleep
like those three dogs
chained up down the street
scratching at the aluminum fence
and digging holes in
all the wrong places
trees speak in your sleep
using the wind and
birds and insects as carriers
scratching out memos
and pontificating about the evils
of the new world order
trees speak in your sleep
sharing secrets from the shire
hosting a murder of crows
gathering above the creek
whispering incessantly
fearing you may awaken
december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am tired but I wake up anyway
I don’t dare dream of showering for fear
that I may never get out
yesterday I had hypothermia
at least that’s what I thought
but every time I took my temperature
it said I had a fever
I don’t play the french lottery
but for some reason
I keep checking the numbers
I used to dream of blackbirds
screaming at the sunrise
but now all I get are sunsets
exploding exactly like last night
november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
She wore a cotton dress on a warm
and sunny day
slightly off-white and sleeveless
complementing and accentuating
her light brown skin
He wore his casual Sunday best
strolling along
white button-down oxford shirt
starkly contrasting pleated charcoal slacks
creased perfectly
Sitting on park bench imagining
her breathing slows
her inner thoughts pressing on
unaware of sights and sounds passing by
before her eyes
From out of the fold he reappears
like a lost lamb
wandering most aimlessly
a blot on the vastness of her dreamscape
off-black yet bright
november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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