A Dream of Breaking White Stones
Enter a dreamscape of eagles, wolves, mad queens, and monsters
Jacquelyn "Jacsun" Shah of Houston, TX, holds: A.B. (Phi Beta Kappa, magna cum laude), Rutgers U; M.A. English, Drew U; M.F.A. and Ph.D. English literature/creative writing–poetry, U of Houston. Her publications include a poetry chapbook, small fry; a full-length poetry book, What to Do with Red; and poems in various journals. She was Literal Latté’s 2018 Food Verse Contest winner and is the Choeofpleirn Press 2023 Kenneth Johnston non-fiction book contest winner — publication forthcoming.
Am I this ribbon of fire hanging like a pigtail from
the Sun, crackling in a hot wind of madness?
Harry Crosby, “103º”
I dream I am an eagle winging
over deserts of insanity,
breaking white stones,
the absurdity of this dream being no more than
averagely characteristic of my sleeping state.
I continually feel hurricanes of magic
storming into me as wild and insane as eagles.
I catapult through tunnels of delirium,
over my shoulders a cataract of unloosened stars.
I am the Lion, I am the Sun,
I stamp upon the floor.
O to be a wolf and bay at the moon,
I proclaim. A Mad Queen
I remain . . . forced to return to the problems.
It is a monster that my thoughts have speared
after the heart’s departure,
a swift metallic monster
curled in snaky arabesques, as cold as stone.
Unwedded from the world, I stray through trees
when the wind roars,
in pursuit of drunken birds
from strange darknesses released,
rattling dice in a yellow skull.
At this moment, an ugly old man steps out
of his Rolls Royce.
Dark-fingered,
he utters an insect cry and departs,
flickering out of sight . . .
I break with the past and race into the future,
my hands alive in expectation
of a death more beautiful than death.
Cento — all lines and partial lines from different poems by Harry Crosby in Harry Crosby: Selected Poems 2020, edited by Ben Maze




Thanks, too, to Soft Star Magazine for publishing my Dream of Breaking White Stones!
Thank you to anyone who reads my cento. I have now written about 385 centos, using lines from more than 2,500 different poets. And now I'm on to a new form I just now created, which I'm calling the QUIRK.