DALI’S ‘SLEEP’

By: Gerry N. Peralta


He winks in his dream

The nose proud even in sleep

And though absent

I see a mustachio

Waxed and curled to the tip

Like eyes on a peacock feather


I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept

With the other eye wide open

For he saw the innermost dreams


Of Narcissus waking from water

Of a man cradled in crucifixion

Of time melting into stupor

Or the eye itself encrusted with jewels

Or sticking out of a walking stick

Or glaring at the projected light of film


I guess his ego never slept

I imagine it as an eyeball

Caroming and careening

In the vast spaces of his works



I hear it as thunder

That is in fact laughter

Masquerading as a snore


But what are these thin sticks

That prop his face, his sleep?

These miniature creatures

Whose eyes one couldn’t even glimpse


Are they how he saw himself?