Salvador Marx

Harpo's fingers dance the strings    
His brothers heading out the door    
The fat matron sips, then screams    
Her crystal goblet hits the floor    
   
The dog laps up this finest wine    
Then speaks in a foreign tongue    
They hear, but the advice is lost    
Vanished as "Fever" is sung    
   
Ants crawl from a dead man's palm    
One gent applies his cane to stop the flow    
A passerby strolls this twisted town    
But is bleeding fast, so takes it slow    
   
A stranger thaws while Harpo plays    
His essence curling to the moon    
He checks his watch but there's no time    
A last meltdown, and all too soon    
   
   
Photo: Salvador Dali sketching Harpo Marx