In the dream you drown and fall up into the purple sky
and liquid moon and breach the surface of stars
and bob in the real universe beyond this universe
and you never catch your breath or wake drowsy
or see a cosmonaut floating alone besides.
The boy fishes coins from the fountain, buys his toys his hands
still dripping wet. The clerk counts the cold coins, lets
them fall into the register from the height of his smile,
splashing and chinking with the dry adult change
that purchased some peppermint to hide stinking breath.
The hornet in your mouth will find its way out and what you
say then will change the way it stung. The stinger
numbs your tongue. You are falling into flowers that hornets
never harvest, though you hope for honey, you
know no bee sting has barbs like these that dumb the tongue.
The staggering homes on the drunk’s road throw their yellow light
for his feet to follow. He sings his song and
mourns the world as if it were a strand of hair falling from
his lover’s head to the cold ground forever.
You watch from your window his uneven orbit.
Off the rock face the rocks were falling, spilling the globe back
into the globe through the home you built below.
You stood there with your naked arms wide as the moon’s tines
catching stones as they rolled off the earth and back
into the earth through the windows of your home.
Everyday some little part of me hopes my car crashes. I dream
of the fields and forests, the taigas and tundras
after death. I’m falling asleep at the wheel. Then, just then,
the car curves onto the rumble of dirt on the side
of the road and I swerve back, saved from the dream
of a real universe beyond this universe.
About the Author
Brian Lutz teaches at Delaware Valley University. In 2003 he was named Poetry Laurate of Bucks County, PA. His poetry has been published in numerous journals including Slate, Potomac Review, Louisville Review, Shambles, Constellations, Southern Florida Poetry Journal, Welter, Poetry East, Cider Press Review, Poet Lore, The Black Fork Review, The Meadow, West Trade Review, Visitant, Lost Pilots Literary Journal, Little Patuxent Review, Apple Valley Review and Cimarron Review. Brian lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, two kids and three cats.