by Geramee Hensley (Capital Univ.)

Third Place

"dream caused by the flight of a bee around a pomegranate a second before awakening"

My eyes are cherried cigarettes,
two pomegranate seeds,
staring at this screen fuming light:
"a hand painted dream photograph"
--a mirror
reflecting what I have not dreamed.
The voids between
netted neurons
unfired stimuli:
thoughts I cannot think:

I have been insane here
the-I-have-so-much-time-and-so-little-to-do insane,
the-I-have-been-up-for-one-hundred-eight-hours insane,
the-honey-in-my-chest-has-turned-sour insane,
the-I'm-going-to-piss-on-unsuspecting-syntax insane,
and then I'm going to laugh like Goliath
after getting my ass handed to me
by some pre-pubescent with a god
and a slingshot.

I have murdered time and space here
waiting for laughter
like that,
laughter coming like a dream on the precipice
of awakening.