College Dreams

When the fickle moon-beam glances on my cheek

I have prickling moon dreams

Where teams of red-black flannelled collegiates

In rows of three’s and four’s wearing bandolier

Sashes filled with ashes of all the books

And thoughts I’ve ever loved

March atop my prostrate body and crack

My brittle bones into my splintered bed and the treaded dirt beneath.

When they fire the ashes into the air

I wake and realize the flash is only a ray,

But my bones still shake.