Joan Miró, The Gold of the Azure, 1967 —experience of big & small is an eclipse of the fingers & the shadow wasn’t made to stop it milking a thin line between fiction & proportion {our visions are tempered by a suspicion of restless endings} & their distal blue fragrance fills the night like ash [...]
Tag: surrealist poetry
Artificial Paradise
even the desert had forgotten the rose and the skinny glass house in which she’d kept it {that which shakes us from the grip of our totalitarian nightmares and rescues us from the sinking sands of a thousand deserts and the hundred or so oddities that parade across our eyelids while we’re fast sleep} a [...]
Cut to Black
the film switches to men on their backs, they’re our real heroes, surfing on the chemical pink underbelly of a fertile sky they’re our whiskey dreamers the soft dancers, the coronet of half-naked bodies blown down by a puff of incense and a hit of stale tobacco it is a scene that begs for rearranging [...]
9Wave
Salvador Dalí, Untitled (Soft Monster in Angelic Landscape), 1977 & the day came when we were forced to feast on the entrails of a static balloon, the sky was any color we liked & the moon was fitted (with maniacal precision) by the sap of an unfiltered lemon dream (nothing beats the sweetness of a [...]
Death of the Pendulum
Joan Miró, Painting (The bottle of wine), 1924 it was a lizard that exhaled the fumes, i was certain of it, and shrunk the eye of the morning like a melted rainbow —but someone had propped up the mouth—with the arms of a stilted bird or an inverted river made of frowns that poured out [...]
Specific Gravity
with a knife like that you’re often guaranteed success dangling from a mirror with a foot of broken glass whose was the voice that begged us to undress with the whole world watching that in a sweating handful of candy-apple hips and toothpick arms and melancholy breasts like hardened pitchers of clay, thumbed our eyes [...]
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 [...]
