salvador dali

dalis america cannot be mine
for my mind is fixed. (a creaky,
wooden vessel bobbing above a
swelteringly green sea
of the past; bound to docks dripping
with fish-gut facials)
i refer to a lovers cheeks as a rose
before i pluck the petals (whiter
and die before they kiss the earth)
I am told therefore I believe.
I once thought i was free as a sky
stained bluejay nestled in cocaine
clouds bitter sweet embrace but
I am in fact dying slowly like them
and have been so since I descended
as nigger angels from the womb.
ah: that distant cloud recedding
over the hills; triumphantly tip
toeing with the fire and ice of a
orchestral pitzacatto from my tired
voyeur eyes.
dalis dreams cannot be mine
for my dreams mimick this world,
not the worlds slightly obscured
by all the talk of time, and space
appearance and reality.
it takes chaos; budding red orchirds
of anarchy to release the asshole tight
shackles binding us to a plastic reality.
We see the mirror and believe we see us;
we see the entity we believe to know so
well (the one afraid of the dark and dying
alone in a white sheet/walls painted white
hospital).
but we are wrong; we have never seen ourself.
(the mirror is glass/the photographs are paper/
the shadows an obediant dog following you
to an eventual grave.)
I speak as if i know.
maybe i do that well.
While the words are seemingly as strong
as an Uncle's handshake and unique as
a randomly selected snowflake, they are
nothing but previously uttered patches
carefully woven (beautifully I
hope) quilt of what-ifs?
Sometimes: I feel as if dying makes sense
and i get this feeling that god is real
and those thoughts disperse as keen deer
swimming in a firey autumn brush as the
hunters footsteps croon as a chiped, out
of tune harp...
I realize god is just an unflinching, un
relenting, serial killer and i am nothing.
I am on my knees, wimpering helplessly..
"please, please.. don't kill me... please..
I have a family! PLEASE!!" I'll do anything.. just let me LIVE!

his smile is that of a hyena as he pulls the
trigger. brains explode out the back in an
apple orchid red cloud.
fireworks fill the room with a burst of morning.
beautiful as the first sun-set (Adam and Eve
sat side by side...naked...watching..)

-Ryan