deepundergroundpoetry.com

A Painted World
If I could live a painted life
inside a painted world...
I would climb inside the cage
to which the griffins are leashed
and torture them with meat on sticks,
until they flew me to that place
where perspective melts away,
symptomatic as it is of that old sadist,
Realism. There, Alexander stands
in a bowl made of valleys,
almost as tall as a castle,
his crown scraping the stars.
Once upon a time he flew here, too,
precisely as I did.
The griffins he used are now kings
of their realm in the east.
inside a painted world...
I would climb inside the cage
to which the griffins are leashed
and torture them with meat on sticks,
until they flew me to that place
where perspective melts away,
symptomatic as it is of that old sadist,
Realism. There, Alexander stands
in a bowl made of valleys,
almost as tall as a castle,
his crown scraping the stars.
Once upon a time he flew here, too,
precisely as I did.
The griffins he used are now kings
of their realm in the east.
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