the healing of the shattered twig
above the grass in my violin
above the nails in my violin
watch the weather tear through my violin
as the garlic
the garlic
festers in the space beneath my violin

and the green onions
are hanged in the wardrobe
and the grey carrots
are hanged in the wardrobe
and the orange carrot
lonely in the bunch
cries out against the night
against the despair
the lost voice
of the isolated vegetable

and the flowery vase
is hanged in the wardrobe
and the violin bow
is hanged in the wardrobe
and all is lost
and none is harmed
and everything makes sense

5 thoughts on “Dreaming

    • Oddly, this one is based on an appalling work of art a friend of mine encountered in an Airbnb. I wish I could post her picture of the painting here, but I don’t have permission to do so. I turned the bad art into a bad poem in the comments of her Facebook post. Perhaps terrible art doesn’t always translate perfectly into terrible poetry. What a conundrum.


      • This picture involved a twig with a bandaid on it floating above a closet shelf on which rested a violin with nails instead of tuning pegs. Part of the violin’s body was gone, and you could see a wheat field inside it. There may have been water on its neck, or maybe clouds. Below the shelf, four items were hanging on hooks: a bunch of green onions, a violin bow, a flowery jug (which I erroneously called a vase), and a bundle of carrots, all but one of which was grey. It was…random.


  1. Mmm… sounds reminiscent of Dali. Too bad you couldn’t post it but if you’re friend ever posts her/his/their (don’t wanna assume here) art online I’d be happy to check out and perhaps give a plug on my site.


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