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If Dali wrote Poetry:

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Roses are red, violets are blue.
Lost my shirt, a glove and boot,
looked in the cupboard and found it empty
except for a giraffe, a spoon and a sleeping ocean.

Roses are red, pink clouds blue.
I said to love, 'that I love eggs,
swans reflecting and a melted clock.'
But best of all I'd like to sleep.

Jesus is bread. Last supper true.
I wax my moustache with Bostick.
I write, and write, and write again,
make each verse ring not quite the equivalent:

hearts are plants awash in thorns
and voices burn the flowers.
Sod them! Build a muse with habital parts
and drip your poetry for hours.

I admit that I am an orang-utan in a suit. I am, no, really!

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