Tag: surrealist poetry
-
Venus Flies at Night
Salvador Dalí, The Hallucinogenic Toreador, 1968-70 Venus flies at nightrugged-faced androgynous as a whistlea cactus breeds listens with two heads at the same time(a bit like walking without sunshine)perhaps a better woman would have squeezed the worldno. a better woman would have told you happiness is singing with your hair downin spite of all the […]
-
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 […]
-
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 […]
-
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 […]
-
Final Cut
Salvador Dalí, Composition for “Labyrinth,” 1947 i’m looking for something to trigger it the vision of a scene that was wronged by the seizure of a violin, a stolen touch like a carpenter’s hand discerning the contours of a naked jawbone, and a set of feet that stormed a violent hallway while the neck was […]
-
Rest in Pieces
Salvador Dalí, Autumnal Cannibalism (1936) it was the last supper at the ledge of the world and every fork was lit with the intentions of a preacher there was a giant hoof where a crater used to be and an orange moon folded like a bird around our ankles in each line is a world, […]
-
Lo Lite
Salvador Dalí, Surrealist Composition (c. 1928) between me & the road was a red letter r, an ember of hair or a single faceless masquerade with a line above the brow indicating “no direction” the air was a blue-green funk lo lite rays & the ripples of a halogen fantasy (it is our duty to speak […]
-
Lo Air
And the day was a man With a beard for a bird feeder A caved-in spine and a forest for a mouth And the night was a wave, broken and blue, A somersault between my knees Lo air, lips, and two half-parted fingers A roomful of glass beetles, like three dozen departed souls Winging their […]
The Used Life 