And Dali Melted Into Matisse

How long had my heart been in pieces on the floor?
How long had I looked at the pieces needing a dustpan?
Mopping up the blood that just attracted ants,
I picked up the broom from its handy storage spot
Between the refrigerator and the wall, tucked in like
A child robot awaiting its moment to be a real boy.

Everything felt surreal, like Dali raised from the grave
His mustache in tact. Somehow, the ants began to march:
A retreat. The blood became mercury, congealing together.
Each piece vibrated on the floor until magnetic attraction
Thrust them across the tiles making a whole throbbing
Vessel that sucked back inside its ventricles the blood.

The broom robot boy turned his head and looked up at me
As if to ask a question it had no words for, so I spoke them:
“Make me a real boy, Geppetto,” and reached down to pick up
The newly formed heart in my hand. My chest opened its wound
As the boy whispered one word: “Home.” Inside the empty space
The heart fit so nicely and Dali melted into Matisse, dancing.

Image:
Henri Matisse, The Dance (first version), 1909, The Museum of Modern Art, NYC

Word Magnet a Puzzle

Who is she this blue goddess?

Put an ugly chocolate diamond on her purple finger

Incubate the rain dream heaving behind her breast garden

Whisper in delirious lust next to those bare feet

And live part of life white fluff in pink pants

Crush the sweet lather

Leave the peach

Recall the driving vision of death

Light in flood of friends

Wax the lazy beat

 
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