To Mecca, Malta, Malawi

Written by Chelsea Marie Hicks

Smuggling daydreams in knapsacks,
we hop the border between imaginations
and some place we’re told is real.

Existing in this capsule, an aqueous membrane,
a speck, flake, drip drop amidst the mountains of our universe,
we spin without moving our feet, muscles in constant motion
despite our trusted illusion of stillness.

Craving fanciful moments formed in a daze,
the haze of waking life
separates drones from revolutionaries,
the weary from those chasing thrills.

Whenever will the morning unveil the unfamiliar?
Waves undulating at frequencies our senses suddenly render–
purples uncharted, seas unseen.

Following a dotted line,
my feet make a mess of the sands
that once provided directions.

To Mecca, Malta, Malawi,
westward leaning treetops billowing in the breeze,
nowhere is everywhere I’ve been before,
somewhere I’ll be, in between the fabric,
caught in the stitches of winding, wandering reveries.



Written by Chelsea Marie Hicks

Sometimes I dream of burning metal,
an aneurism smelling stains, staining smells into the nostrils of my nightmares,
places daydreams go to visit, rare to return.
This is a place speckled blue and bright,
dark matter, rays of fire, swirling in a phosphorescent haze.
Our mind’s made up of galaxies, battling and bending,
breaking when we fall out of