black ebony box
all trimmed in gold- could only
be holding treasure
Eluard
as vapors of mercury upon burnished silver
freeze Paris on a tin-type photo
clear
vivid
never to fade
so the poet's words are cast
like iron beams of the Eiffel Tower
stark
standing in daylight
reaching out to generations
even if all the paradigms are sleeping on their heads
and the lines between daylight and dreams
have become uncertain
reaching to kiss me-
I am transfixed by the moonlight
in this woman's eyes
Gala
you are not beautiful
you are fabulous
you are satin silk mink and pearls
now I know why the ancients believed Aphrodite was born from the sea
a primal force of life rising forth from a shell
(a living jewel-box of stone soft as skin
painted with dawn's gentlest watercolours)
I am washed in the salt of a thousand rivers
their foam rushes around my ears
cedar cigar box
no matter that it's empty
-scent of wood and leaf
Dali
the cropologist
creeping through the belly and the entrails of the earth
looking for the perfect fossilized turd
his quest
his grail
that Tyrannosaurus Rex "flop"
that has petrified into opal
he longs to bring it out
to show the world how its blood red flecks
transform into fire in the sunlight
he is a huckster , a trickster
he is a liar, a plagiarist
selling pterodactyl guano
passing it off for gold
but on the early morning valley plain
where dawn mists are gilding heaven and earth
no one can tell the difference
Gold trophy winner
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