someone has carved out layers beneath the bone and erected a building without interruption the steady seed of a self-made fantasy concrete acid maze cool junk cartography of a consciousness never born to rise like rows of sitting mirrors that shattered themselves with noise [awareness is a bird of truth catapulted by the reflection of [...]
Tag: mystical poetry
Sandman Express VI
Read more of the Sandman Express poems. except when he left it mattered that someone had stolen the barrel and plucked out the wood like a house of broken marionettes it was a scene that played out like a two-cent fiddle, a rhyme that never rounded the bend, an unholy landslide that broke through a [...]
Elegance in Circles
Salvador Dalí, Portrait of Picasso, 1947 tell me the entire face is mine, even the subtle interior, like a self-tied knot or the crutch of a malformed pearl that rests a weakened fleece on its forehead and tell me the riddle at the end of the nose is also mine sunny cranial jukebox sly rhythm [...]
Sandman Express V
Read more of the Sandman Express poems. the price, in the beginning, was a simple necktie with a knot like a half-eaten moon, a vase of flowers and the dust from a magic carpet that had sailed to all seven setting suns or so said that wiry old mystic as we shotgunned along on his [...]
Revenge of the First
Salvador Dalí, "Geopoliticus" Child Watching the Birth of the New Man, 1943 there’s nothing left to undress but the nose a trinket the size of a dime, really, an anthill of cosmic reconstruction a single-celled dinosaur and the fracture in a memory that’s sent tumbling from its axis like the ribs off a sleeping bull [...]
Sandman Express IV
Read Sandman Express, Parts I, II, and III. i never imagined it would all disappear this way, a grove of floating oranges and sapphire giraffes, an acre of magic grass that shone like an eyeful of diamonds out the busted windows of the Sandman, that harbinger of technicolor dreams, while the old hippie wizard and [...]
Lo Dive
it was never more important to remember the rose, the way it crimped in her hair like an afterthought pruned with the blade of a cruel shoulder like a little neglected wing or a misshapen song unless my eyes were lying the instant i saw her perched on the fingertip of the morning like a [...]
