Café Apollinaire, Part V Marauding Mobs of Lobsters

Tales From Café Apollinaire
Variations on Distilled Dreams
Part v: 
Inside the jumble jar With Marauding Mobs Of Lobters

At  Café Apollinaire
cynical misunderstood artists and poets 
fearing and hoping for fame
making fun of those who seek the same
proclaim their innocence
admitting to their guilt
rant and rave against
all these foolish feeble artistic
psuedo-philosophical aesthetics
become Surreal become Dada
howl moan sigh shout screech
speak words at random
at random words speak
speak letters not words
in telegraphic dots and dashes
in smoke signals
too much ink has been spilled on paper
no need no point in crying over it
misunderstood words slithering into hiding
hissing about to strike
misunderstanding hiding slithering words
leaving us dying from meaning
shapes of sounds
shapes of pictures
shaken around in the Jumble Jar
sifted from your head
love death fear
what colour what shapes are these
the picture a puzzle a muddle
dreams nightmares encryptic symbols
hieroglyphics signposts of inscapes
inner maps of the abandoned mines
objects of outscapes inverted
in the mind's eye searching deep within
where words cannot reach
where visions slumber waiting
for the call -

rambling meandering
interior monologues
dialogues of imagined self and soul
of the deluded Mental Traveller
on the experiences of the senses
forcing meaning
light strikes an eye
turns to color a world of light and shadow
color dripping on objects
a continuously moving film
twisting frames into order
sequences jumbled
in the jumble jar
behind our eyes
visions wondrous unspeakable
plunging beneath the surface
giving birth to new myths
others see in dreams
some never go there
some murder dreams on waking
playing in the fields of Archetypes
of fears and fantasies
a poet being attacked by a potbellied stove
being chased by marauding mobs of lobsters
men in bowler hats raining down
melting clocks searching for friends
proselytizing giant Leopard Slugs
on every street corner
no longer there searching for the room
house or apartment where you say you live
a thousand miles from where you are
detachable penises running wild
vaginas with double rows of teeth
all dislodged spread out shamelessly
on the dinner plates for all to see
two scorpions fighting to the death
a straight razor slices open someone's eye
quest sitting around a table
on toilet bowls politely
moving their bowels at Bunuel's request
a feast to feed our heads
at a Banquet at Café Apollinaire
inside the Jumble Jar -

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