Fossilized tongues clatter and rattle
On a warehouse floor
Spilling from their crate
As it’s carelessly lifted from a high shelf
Clouds of dust rise as the rock tongues settles
The negligent workman laughs
In smarmy harmony with the spirit to obscure
So it is that there is under a miracle
A prosaic field, rutted with tractor-tread dues
To be paid at once to those who, those who, those who
Look (Miserable Visu!), but do not touch, and never listen
To a siren symbol that would fit in a thimble
If flimflam, flimflam, flimflam is the message
And food is the food
Mightn’t yet a third-hand dawn be pleasing at second-hand?
Sans dictaphone, (Mirabile Dictu!) you bet
This one is for Disaster,
Farm-fresh brainwave, breaded with words and lightly fried in sesame oil, serves to serve two, poorly.
The semi-majesty of rustic ball bearings, lubricated by the incorrect divinations of an aggressive botanist lost in his cups of rosewater, hips, lips, sigh as the teamster slips the adjective-bereft limousine into DRIVE
Is implacable torment to a sobriety that hasn’t fallen off the wagon so much as failed to succumb to motion sickness even though it has been pushed back into reverse.
There’s no use crying over cubed onions, Enzyme.
Joseph Robert: “If I was a donate button, would you push me? What would it do to Joseph Robert’s sensitive nature if you pushed me too far?”
Richard Montgomery: “My philosophical surrealistic drawings are known for their unique twist on life and our perspective of it. The “hidden in plain sight” details of my work are ruminants of the great masters like M.C. Escher and Salvador Dali. I have been drawing my entire life and have had no formal training other than just my own desire to create from the time I could hold a crayon or pencil. I enjoy many different types of art yet surrealism holds my passion the most.”