Journalism in Verse – EST. 2016



in Culture by


Salvador Dali composed a religious masterpiece
of The Christ from the perspective of God above
in 1951. Only then could we picture what it might
be like to raise a son.

There’s a photograph in your smartphone
of Dali wearing a lobster on his head. The animal’s
antennae and Salvador’s moustache are kindred
spirits. How else could you describe your thinking?

There’s a lobster on your head. You’re wondering
how to trap it with your mind. Now consider
your course carefully by widening your eyes.

The best performance Elliot Gould ever gave
was when he played famed detective Philip Marlowe
in an adaptation of The Long Goodbye. The best
sex scene in film history is when Bogart flips
the bookstore sign

as the same character in The Big Sleep.
When Raymond Chandler invented similes
he’d say, She had regrets as big as the nostalgia
you feel every time you flip your phone
and find there’s another text missing, again.

Our words for hope and our words for nighttime
brakeless brain trains are as similar and precise
as moustaches and rhinoceros horns.

After my father finished drinking he watched
movies every Friday night. He once dropped
a quarter stick of dynamite in Flathead Lake
and regretted the fish slaughter every day after.

Sometimes you count sobriety by the things
you no longer mine.

He dreamed of dining at Tavern on the Green
and felt disappointed when he got there.

Look now, Dali exits a subway. He has
an aardvark on a leash.

On your smartphone screen there’s a photograph
of Dali painting a penis on his wife’s forehead.
He signs his name, Picasso.

Every college dorm once came with a poster
of elephants reflecting into swans. Look closer:

the swans turn their necks into lobster claws
now, cawing.

The poster is a fake. The penis picture
is a forgery. The only way to authenticate
anymore is to take some DNA. Experts
agree genetic material is impossible to
alter using Photoshop techniques.

Sift through the dirt though and you’ll find
nothing but the boot marks of nostalgia;
you’ll find a compass where every direction
says look behind.

Overheard on a reflected boat dock:

I’m doing pretty good.
I woke up on the right side of the grass today.

The light rendered detectives way back before
every one of them needed a car to solve water based
mysteries correctly. He once hanged a photo of JFK
in his office and the two of them now are reflecting
into lakes.

If you ever make it to Manhattan, make sure
to dig me up when you get there. How else
would you imagine the words womb and tomb
became so confusing? All of these caverns, emptying.

In 2017 they entered the cave and he was gone.

Read More:
In Surrealist Twist, Dali Exhumed in Paternity Suit [MSN]

Kurt Cole Eidsvig is a poet and artist whose work has appeared in journals like Hanging Loose, Slipstream, Main Street Rag, and Borderlands. He maintains a website at

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