Dig On Dali Poem by James McLain

Shapely shade hugs me down,
held by my head, I am
short one, it giggles.
Señor Dalí,
dame tu mano, por favor, ahora vamos de la tierra,
aquí es un paño de la cara, te ves bien.
The eye, dipped mime on string, does sing us songs
for rent.
Clocks, heavy bent with time it dances well, while cows
being milked and drink from wells of wine.
Rapid rivers swim in ears they pour, as rain falling more in dreams.
Gently I am lowered into sleep, while Dali weeps.