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DALI’S HANDBURGER STAND BY GREGORY WALLACE

Gender is a most Confusing thing: 8 songs for the non binary listener!
February 13, 2019
DR. SEUSS KNEW EVERYTHING BY CAROL HAMILTON
February 17, 2019

 

Dali’s Handburger Stand

 

A tiny airliner dropped its

divine countenance and your

unlimited force pressing in

like an army of ants

masks which conceal space demons

stretched to the limit in black hills

glass sanctuary repeated the panic

automatic screens protected

blue shadows under each cloud

the ring of light flames

where mirrors framed

glowing images in our permanent dawn

 

Blood and milk flowed in glassy squares

paper lining unpinned

or unstuck, and blue balloons

accompanied him later on his glittering walls

during his childhood he felt for

the wet places near shiny buttons

as pipes decorate a flow of words

that announce critical boredom for

seagulls and hidden noises

you knew those square doctrines had

finished registering data

the snakes that never tire last forever

if only he could reset his pudding

 

There had been trees and people

there were fish in the sea

and the world changed

the sun disappeared

the world grew dim

it seemed there was no more

steering fluid or something

zigzag circles pulse in my head

why don’t I go east or west?

my eyes, like millions

of tumblers of coffee steamed

in the charcoal mines

the monsters soon reassure the breakfast table

but think how paltry construction gleamed

 

Thru a land dead behind us

the pigeon might be anyone

they surged into solids and

powers rejoice, the elements perform

the familiar outlines of planetary magic

in a few years I’ll be built in the wrong way

for your caverns of sleep

 

Beavers built the oceans and continents of earth

clear with pink and colored curtains

the lugubrious game stuck to the pavement

and the letters came slowly without any stampede

house of glass, children left us gasping

a multiple dry carcass

overtook everyone and then

in the vast still streaming blackness

the faces fell one by one

 

Family cars covered with violet

and the smell of explosives

the particular streets fade in my mind

we crawled everywhere on

wooden sidewalks and roads

the paintings there extracted molars

in the presence of jaguars

hidden among blue rocks

the original paper torn down

in a factory, now he’s a laborer

dragging Bluebeard’s ghost

across the paving stones


Gregory Autry Wallace is a poet, painter and collagist living in San Francisco. He studied English, World and Comparative Literature, and Creative Writing at San Francisco State University. His poetry and collages have appeared in Athena Incognito, Danse Macabre, Black Scat Review, BlazeVox, Clockwise Cat and Five 2 One. He was a poetry editor for Ink Magazine and a founding editor of Oblivion Magazine. In addition, his paintings, collages and assemblages have appeared in juried art shows.