surrealist painting

(c) Joan Miro Harlequin’s Carnival

in the eden garden of dreams
we fuse our subconscious
as the night claws feed us monsters
and I’d tell you what to dream
if you gave me your worst nightmare.
I’ll just dream a dream
about stars
and binary star systems
musical stars
slipping between them while chris hadfield commands the ship and sings space oddity
a bowie scrutinizing the sky
serenading to your garden’s flowers in a cygnet committee
as he looks for velvet goldmine spaceships and murmurs
‘are there absolute beginner heroes on mars?’
you dream of disembodied brains going back and forth
a zombie mosh pit at a funeral with goth rock playing in the background
a passenger chanson with a grim outlook;
on my way to a nice, sugar free, low carb, protein rich sleep,
i crave for a guest appearance of lesbianish anarcho-liberalist parties with blue hair
while you dream of unshaved women lying naked on your bed
with great coffee and grand opera
making love to themselves in a virtual hybrid bed
sweet r-rated and g-related moans in a delicate orchestra of obscene politics
a halloween orgy with lucifer,
dead hookers blossoming in the autumn rain
and pumpkins and zombies
tricking and treating you
as everything dies an ecstatic death.
then I’ll dream a fairyland of spring
with elves and unearthly creatures
painted kaleidoscopic leaves and musings
a theory of string, chaos and everything.
I find you at the tree hollow
a fallen anarchist
with tales to tell
and dreams from heaven and hell.


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