Cigarette dries in crimsoned oil,
a brush stokes across coarse tarp:
mirror of clocks, elephants, deserts;
Dali’s nude heaven.

Mirrors dissipate to windows,
bristles lay in cigarette’s bed,
a beret mounts a figure
behind plastic meadows.

Vertical iron rain rip
humpback mouth holes;
recant Kubrick’s stories.
A pen struggles to speak

Poe’s cries in urine stench
beneath busy streets. Alone,
black ravens bellow nevermore.
Pen falls, sheets rest,

fingers grip wooden bow
to glide across Bach’s moans
putting rest to bodily tools;
no answer for torn admirer.