MAGRITTE AND DALI SHARED A URINAL

Magritte and Dali shared a urinal,

"This is not a pipe," said René,

and Salvador just looked at his watch,

melting like the time it couldn't keep.

 

Poor Vincent couldn't hear the water in the sink,

his ear lost to the madness of the stars,

while Pablo turned a blind eye,

angular

visions splitting the tiles.

 

They all left the bathroom at the same time,

but did not close the door,

letting the scent of true art waft

into the crowded café beyond.

 

Mona Lisa stirred her coffee,

smiling enigmatically at the scene,

while Frida’s eyebrows tangled

with the steam rising from her cup.

 

Outside, a train emerged from a fireplace,

whistling a tune only the mad could hear,

and in the sky, clocks hung like fruit

from the branches of an invisible tree.

 

The urinal stood alone,

a monument to the absurd,

echoes of their laughter

bouncing off the porcelain walls.

 

René lit a cigarette,

the smoke forming question marks,

while Salvador sketched dreams

on the napkins stained with wine.

 

Vincent gazed at the sunflowers,

growing out of the ceiling tiles,

their yellow heads nodding

in a silent symphony of color.

 

Pablo’s blind eye saw more

than the sighted ever could,

his vision a kaleidoscope of angles,

each turn a revelation.

 

The door swung gently,

an invitation to the unreal,

where reality was but a suggestion,

and madness was the muse.

 

They shared more than a urinal,

those men of broken visions,

they shared a world untethered,

where pipes were never just pipes,

and time melted into pools of possibility.

 

Magritte’s bowler hat floated

above the scene, a silent witness,

while Dali’s mustache twitched

with every tick of the dreamer’s clock.

Vincent hummed a starry tune,

his brushstrokes lingering in the air,

and Pablo sculpted shadows

with a glance, a gesture, a sigh.

 

The bathroom door remained open,

a portal to the unknown,

where artists danced with madness,

and urinals spoke in tongues.

 

In that space between reality and dream,

they found their truth, their art,

Magritte, Dali, Vincent, Pablo,

each one a master of the surreal,

each one a poet of the impossible.

 

© Richard Gordon Zyne   061524