Dali's Dilemma

in ,

Everything becomes dream-like.
Clocks melt under the sun,
and ants nibble the fluid time.
In the distance,
burning giraffes canter about in a panic,
bashing into – then breaking apart –
elephants on stilts-like legs.

Orbs spin about him,
flashing and twirling,
mirages in their depths.
They are graceful
yet menacing.
Alive with a purpose that
only they know.

Everything fluxes.
Time, he can’t tell.
Has he been there for ten minutes?
Or ten months?
Time can’t be defined.
It can’t be held.

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