"In the Cellar of Night" is a nightmare poem based on a pair of recurring dreams I've had off and on for years. No, I don't know what they "mean" and if you do, possibly it would be kinder not to tell me. The challenge of writing the poem is to capture the mood of those particular dreams, and this is just my latest attempt. There have been others. As usual, look for the full picture on Tupelo around mid-day. 

I am always

unable. Drowning

in motion, and dragging

my hand along the walls

in the half-light. The house is always

contorted, rooms off a long hall,

each one danker more

deserted.

I’d forgotten

these rooms, how they ramble,

doors rotting, jams twisted, floors

where knuckles

of roots shatter joists

and the sound of water

darkens step by step.

For me, dream poems have two attractions. First, their surreal. Salvador Dali and all that, something twisted and familiar at the same time. Second, I am not a natural lyric poet, almost everything I write bends toward a story, but I do believe that a good poem  ought to have elements of both: fragments of narrative and at the same time intense, not explicable emotion. Which is kind of an exact description of a dream. Or, at least, of my dreams. 

So Day 24. But who’s counting. I have a feeling that when Day 30 arrives, I'll feel both relieved and a little abandoned. It has been so much fun to share poetry with you guys. I also plan to sleep for a week.