UPON Dali’s lashes the clocks have
melted persistently as Time
battles weak waves of gravity
And then (that some whisper) a
name murmuring midnight we all
stand before the Cosmic God
who has No Name; maybe “Ah.”
As glass cocks turn to stone
the soft touch of skin burns
and then a charming strike
of lightning buries the lips
of ruins /my mother has hips
that born a grown fetus
through the strongest arms
of all forgotten women
And my heart drawn by Picasso
my face by Jesus and my Soul
by Space.
It is here
the engraving plate that
printed all humans /but the
hand of that apprentice
has left us for another
universe.\

:: 03-29-2019 ::