Sunday, October 5, 2014

the persistence of memory, Salvador Dali


The marks on a body are the marks on a map. They tell you
where you have been, and how to get home again so that you can stop
going round inside yourself. Look down at the map. Look up at the 
sky. Where is the sun? Now walk. Make a new pathway, walk out of the

               land of horror and sweetness...

                                                  Ann-Marie MacDonald, Adult Onset

when the forest is a map you failed to learn
and those distended days of whining roses
surreal in the constructed vase of time
melting into fey insatiate poses

geographies of countries primed for peace
for worlds where war is served up daily
while  flowers weight doves down from burning skies 
high as bulletproof kites when windfall fails to cease

petals as the love me love me not of bald desire
desert sands as grainy trees of cookied fortune
lust as monstrous notion peeking into fire
Narcissus as the lisp lined friend you fail to notice

recognizing love as something blighted
constructed raw from shell’s exploded bliss
as multi-gendered lies we build on fading beaches
unnaming that of us then we then they then this

navigating scars that bleed through stitches
finding other routes from there to here
queering broken heart’s grotesque predictions
a dream of sleep beyond the braying ditch

what when the with of why begins to wear
thin remains of fabrics worn to dirt
what hurt of how and who and when to witness
where will the whence of wanton make you cry

on high as bulletproof kites where windfall fails to cease
petals pushing doves from burning skies 
word weary war torn smorgasbords of verbs served daily
syntactic maps of hungry buried bodies

look up look down
the grimy sky’s been primed for peace
while heaven’s false promise hides in sunny paths
the cloudy frown of hope smiles through the laugh lined crease

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