Dream 1: The Sawmill – A Docudrama with a Prison Escape

I deep seeded myself, saw a mirrored-me
from a woodman’s porch, my doe toes & dewy knees.

I rubbed my nose, creek water cracking ass, cheeks smacking paddle hairbrush, soft-bristles, the whup-lush mush

of different banana slips. Ancient visions around the panko- campfire, now the conglomerate, glassy-golden honey bear &

his huge unbreakable balls rolling across cabin planks–there he is, the lumberyard idol, covered in cush-green, a tidal wave of flannel

retribution. This moment, revealing the world’s most naked
pebble, the world’s most igneous people, dusk’s exoplanets scattering,

abrupt measures of timid time unsettling. We tongue our neuroses, hold onto wisps of indecent youth. We sliver up bones (almond packets

from the plane) look upon our own faces for the first time in the studious wind. Moholy-Nagy once said there’s something incomplete about this city,
its people, and their lives.

Dream 9: She Has The “Bandwidth”

Someone once said:
to straighten the crooked,
you must first do the harder thing—
straighten yourself.

Mendeleev comes in, places lithium (Li) above sodium (Na) again.
See what spells you little alchemist.

I see his texts, pages of numerals next to
pens & cufflinks. He make love like suede-winter / summer-sedimentary.

We make soup & wine from the sky.
New elements show oil & rust & slashes—

He has accents of never. I twist my
body into him, rake tiny pelicans across his ribs.

Then this brave, fluffy hamster,
the whole annex full of garland!

Dream 11: A Mist Of Verbs

What occurred that summer,
the rise of a decent painter, clay
& smoke from the jetty. We made
the mattress sing, crushing coconuts
& possessing nothing but the history
of our own skin. Lanterns in the wind
in a working-class district, you’re a son
of a Lord Leighton Frederic. Lime tablets
behind the buffet table & only chilly
precipitation for my food, that poor
Clytie–me & my dumb Cabernet Sauvignon–
the great American novel expecting me any moment.

 


 

Lina Ramona Vitkauskas (Lithuanian-American-Canadian, b. 1973) is the author of SPINY RETINAS (Mutable Sound, 2014); Professional Poetry (White Hole Press, 2013); A Neon Tryst (Shearsman Books, 2013); HONEY IS A SHE (Plastique Press, 2012); THE RANGE OF YOUR AMAZING NOTHING (Ravenna Press, 2010); and Failed Star Spawns Planet/Star (dancing girl press, 2006). In 2013, she was selected by Eleni Sikelianos for the Henry Miller Memorial Library Ping Pong Journal Award, and in 2009, she was selected by Brenda Hillman for The Poetry Center of Chicago’s Juried Reading Award. She has also been nominated by Another Chicago Magazine for an Illinois Arts Council Award. Her publications include (forthcoming) Dusie (Canadian version, 2015),Jacket2, Atticus Review, POETBOOK, Spork, The Awl, Matter, Coconut, TarpaulinSky, Requited, DIAGRAM, TriQuarterly, The Chicago Review, The Toronto Quarterly, VLAK (Ed. Louis Armand, Edmund Berrigan), The Prague Literary Review, White Fungus (Taiwan; recently displayed at MoMA), and more. In 2000, she earned an M.A. in Creative Writing from Wright State University, where she participated in a summer workshop with Nikky Finney, the 2012 National Book Award Winner in Poetry. Lina has been a faculty member at the Chicago School of Poetics, as well as the co-editor of the 14-year-running online literary magazine, milk magazine. She is working on two poetry books: one about dreams and one about current tensions in Ukraine. Her website is www.linaramona.com.