An Ode to David Lynch
Soundless mountain and mirrored cliffs—the blue roses are in
My velvet room, clouds if-chiffon fog, when our dreams feel real
Something for which, tree branch fingers chase—invisible smoke, as people like me pray to open air prisons without a sigh of relief, or hope
In a world where questions are more important than answers, prop-jewelry queens before everything happened
Sometimes, who we were yesterday runs away
A chalice by cusped hands into a chapel of your chaplain imagination
White horse from origami paper, 1990’s televisions with bunny ears on them
I swear not to die if I get old, but different;
Blood of dirt, conquested jungle, occupied holy land, blood of Botanica, Santeria orisha, St. Jeanne D’Arc—death not a raven but pollila negra
Aglaophotis, mercury and silver omamori akin Rosemary, transcendental meditation over pice slices and black coffee
Listen to the wind faceless destiny, orphan of reality, dreamer who sees things but doesn’t know what they mean, or if they even-ever will really matter…
Over there, far away from here…I think, I (could) belong there? Where the days were violet, sapphirine, wisteria newspaper
Cigarette off the tip of her lips after hours, listening to somebody who isn’t there say your name
The person on the other side of the mirror—I am their reflection.
Heaven’s evening, pandemonium’s dawn, a lake for a desert called Sonora
Used to call me Ramona, remember how we used to look? Ruby spotlight within a darkroom
Pentax 6x9 medium-format fixed lens, leaf-shutter camera, back when
A thought might have lasted forever, then…
Aluminum cross, water out a Mexican jug that once was filled with Jarritos and lime drops, basil seance on seder
With cedar and sagebrush, smudge of honey from Hebron mixed along witch hazel, cactus bark, wings of a dead moth and Moon Valley gardenias
Where dandelion Pollyanna, limoncello doves, spiderweb chandeliers, mylar shoelaces hem to the wind as silk ribbon,
Cinnamon freckles and eyes obsidian, barefooted across a stony brook akin a waterfowl beneath heaven,
Rust sunset, petals of lavender hibiscus, bestrewn olive persimmon, unripened wild bark, dragonfruit blossoms afar scarlet caladium,
Butterfly on your tongue, where sparrows and mockingbirds envenerate shellfire autumn;
Jackfruit flesh, willow tree nectar, blood of the sun quicksilver, bluejays of pastel chalk painting flowers on the sidewalk,
In cursive, milkbones embroidered into the corners of tourmaline garlands, licorice glinted amaretto moon and Jupiter’s children,
Partridge-feathered corsages split by Merriweather birchwood and Elm Street pumpkin, marigold porcelain and auburn syrup,
Cherub and carob necklaces, bromides—brocades of liquid crystalline, quarts and stone fruit arrows, rosewater marquisette
Apart palmetto leaf amongst Cypruses and a proscenium of cassava, orpiment tarot cards over a bed chrysanthemum,
Begonias, stained-glass cinnabar, watercolor robins, beige iceboxes, Payne’s grey epaulets hung as Christmas lights, tinsel amusement park arcade neon,
The way the beach whispers to moonlight, piano teeth and gospels of August apartments,
Whenever an angel dies she leaves a piece of her hair call rainwater,
Of a past life martyred saint, raising your hands on a ferris wheel with me in October,
Everywhere and forever, somedays if-sometimes, when I can remember—the time between eternity and a breath…
Subconsciousness, how it filled my heart with fire and mind the daydreams of desire
© 2025, A. M. D’Angelo
