All day the sun has been in front of me
Conforming not to what I normally see.
I should not see it if I turn my head.
Yet there it is. It’s now a thing I dread.
A daimon whispers softly in my ear,
“Deviation’s not a thing to fear.
You know how all your watches felt.
Yet Mr. Dali’s watches melt.
So much can change beyond recall.
Ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall.
“Convention is a stance you hold too dear.
Suns are capricious; that much is clear.
And one step more, trust what you see.
Dreams travel at right angles to reality.”
Demon or daimon, a drug or a dream,
Shouldn’t things BE, and not just seem?
My head hurts. My heart’s in sorrow.
Maybe I’ll try this again tomorrow.
Yeah. And just people, or person. No daimons allowed.
What is a daimon anyway?
fyi on Dali and time