Salvador Dalí, Skull with its Lyric Appendage Leaning on a Night Table Which Should Have the Exact Temperature of a Cardinal Bird’s Nest, 1934.
there’s a chemical basis for everything under the sun frogs' legs, leotards the surreality of a piano in a cool, dry desert this poem, i believe, is organic sexual gravitational like a postmodern fish swimming in a garden a journey of recombinant belief and long-horned beetles (childhood memories) much as the unspoken etiquette of weather what if the seeds we sow are electric? what if sunrise is nothing more than a long, carnivorous sleep? a mind that clings to eternity or the odds and ends of two alphabets passing blindly on a staircase
Image from The Dalí Museum.