Salvador Dali ~ Burning Giraffe
And were you to speak your mind:
without recourse to the wind that blows through the chambers so elegantly scattered throughout the space walled in by this heart-shaped hole.
Speak your mind:
to those sailors who await the mute return of progress across this shifting line of lassitude.
Would they scatter?
like dice on the green baize see-saw surface?
like snake-eyed square-heads forged on fortune’s anvil?
like the bitter taste of success so near to tongue tip taped on reel to reel reality?
Sub atomic snobbery doesn’t come cheap to the cells that occupy the penitent head. For who would plot the jailbreak here where the bars have ceased to serve?
What drunkard drinks no more that he ever did declare to those unaccustomed to the ebb and flow of the moon’s dusty tides?
No tranquil sea shored here to cede the flowers of your youthful expeditions to mount the future’s cascade slopes where abundances reel in the mind’s ballroom, dancing shoes and laser cues and amphetamine nightmares; love and hate and heaven’s gate collecting rust like the thoughts that come of late to litter the halls of time’s passing.
Aye, the devilish details divine all possible paths:
through threadbare carpet bombing;
past bloodlust believers and cadaverous deceivers in corridors without doors; behind dripping greed pig fat from fingers fouled by the innards of every tomorrow;
declaring the only possibility ahead, the approaching monolithic train whose light so blinding nothing conceals but the impending abyss.
No prizes posted here for guessing which side the flipped coin favours nor who will dine and who will serve the stolen dishes held together with spit and human misery and painted over with repetition of all that is deemed appropriate grist for the system’s mill.
without recourse to the wind that blows through the chambers so elegantly scattered throughout the space walled in by this heart-shaped hole.
Speak your mind:
to those sailors who await the mute return of progress across this shifting line of lassitude.
Would they scatter?
like dice on the green baize see-saw surface?
like snake-eyed square-heads forged on fortune’s anvil?
like the bitter taste of success so near to tongue tip taped on reel to reel reality?
Sub atomic snobbery doesn’t come cheap to the cells that occupy the penitent head. For who would plot the jailbreak here where the bars have ceased to serve?
What drunkard drinks no more that he ever did declare to those unaccustomed to the ebb and flow of the moon’s dusty tides?
No tranquil sea shored here to cede the flowers of your youthful expeditions to mount the future’s cascade slopes where abundances reel in the mind’s ballroom, dancing shoes and laser cues and amphetamine nightmares; love and hate and heaven’s gate collecting rust like the thoughts that come of late to litter the halls of time’s passing.
Aye, the devilish details divine all possible paths:
through threadbare carpet bombing;
past bloodlust believers and cadaverous deceivers in corridors without doors; behind dripping greed pig fat from fingers fouled by the innards of every tomorrow;
declaring the only possibility ahead, the approaching monolithic train whose light so blinding nothing conceals but the impending abyss.
No prizes posted here for guessing which side the flipped coin favours nor who will dine and who will serve the stolen dishes held together with spit and human misery and painted over with repetition of all that is deemed appropriate grist for the system’s mill.
6 comments:
Nice post... Keep in touch my friend....
How do you do this, spin and weave words like this? Move over, Milton.
Nice blog..... pics...
Keep cool everyday!
Dunno about Milton van... this was a stream of conscious piece :)
haven't dropped in for the usual compliments-
your mind is an endless well of talent
-Zanzounito
subatomic snobbery dwells in the cells of believers blind to the bars they call the end of everything good and the beginning of what they are better than and should rule. Shut-ins thinking they are shutting out their problems.
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