Thursday, May 2, 2013

Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening (Dali)


The floating nude -- not tigers disgorged by a bass,
Nor a bayonet pricking her flesh below the elbow,
Nor a stilt-legged elephant toting a pinnacle of ice -- 
Is the real dream, the painter's hypnogogic lass.
She's sleeping the secret to what we seem to know -- 
Above her stoney bed and fearsome precipice,
What a bee buzzing at a pomegranate means -- 
Consciousness is a dream of a dream of a dream,
A broken fruit released of its prepotent seeds, 
The begetter of perceptions, ideas, and deeds,
No more real than two hovering mercury beads.
She wakes and the tigers are leaping still,
The elephant's laughter soothingly shrill.
She can forget them all at will, and will.

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