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Dali's moustache

insistence of memory is limpid time,
persistent little bastard he
that waits
for sunrise,
the death blow, the almighty sting, the fraying coattail
to grasp
to cling to
to not yet be devoured

this anger for these reluctant gods
awakening from our slumber
incessant with the sound,
moving away,
always moving away

like a speeding train, its whistle
cutting through the fog and the density
of the unborn night.

Editing stage: 


I like the title, though I don't see any way it relate's to the poem. Who is Dali?
Also, I generally have a problem with poems without punctuation. It sort of keeps you guessing where one thought ends, and another beings, and how the thought is shaped.

I may have read the poem wrongly, but that's how I see it. Maybe, there's some good in it you can help explain. Also, I think I'v got something against ee cummings in general. LOL!

The first stanza seems to me to address the annoying problem of remembrance. i like that subject a lot, and I hope it doesn't become cliche soon. The last talks to me about the future, which is sort of contradictory, depending on what you actually wanted to say.

Again, the title. Why does Dali's Moustache matter?

No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job. - TS Eliot

Dali is Salvatore Dali a famous surrealist painter from Spain who had a wicked moustache, his trademark. One of his themes is time, probably one of his most famous paintings is called *The Persistence of Time/Memory*....

The last half of the poem is just that....train tracks seem to fade into the distance, as does memory and time....

Thanks for asking.


author comment

I know the picture!

One of my favourite on a melancholy day too! lol

I do like the feel of the poem, only most parts feel unconnected. Sort of like they talk spontaneously about something. Is that how you intended it to be?

No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job. - TS Eliot

Life, at times, does seem disconnected, but there's always a thread, there's always a locomotive and the last boxcar.

For me breath and words are the connections. Poetry.


author comment
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