Lucid Labyrinth Divided


©Alexander Rosado-Muñoz Lucid Labyrinth Divided 14″ x 11″ General’s charcoal pencils / Canson mix media 98lb paper

Here is another recent poem that I would love to share with you which is as the previous post also based on a recent complicated dream sequence.

It pairs quite nicely with this third completed drawing of the series which is in a somewhat unconventional pose.


Lucid Labyrinth Divided or Criss Cross Revolver


What have I been getting into?

The dogs are barking loud,

you don’t know what you’re getting into man…

street stroking crowds.

The subterranean warehouse parking lot,

is alive and doing well,

feeling the drift that the rift is closing,

strangling with me the night.

Dream restart, ignition switch stutter,

bring me delight,

a bright light feeling fills the space cement.

Please me, please, Sir,

empty me at first,

thought it to be an exit,

menacing look on her face.

A slight slow grinning,

you don’t know what you’re getting into man…

pause to enter space.

Lost in the illusions,

of the you go first,

I go first,

going back to sleep,

continuing the dream,

now I am with someone,

Is it my brother or my son?

Lucid labyrinth divided,

criss cross revolver,

I walk in like nothing,

In fact already in,

the shore is the reception,

the sea is by the house,

the sky is all united,

the flag is wholly worn.

Small rooms abound,

devilish to a degree,

a cold tear streaks my cheek,

no fear, paintings on the wall…

knowing the way, the exit is clear,

changing the course, smelling the rain,

the window is open.

Hellish dogs close in,

no fear, no fear at all.

I salute,

and the growling and barking continue,

I am out,

and a dog wants out with me,

and he is taken back in.

An offer of a million,

of travel, of emotion,

of elegance of breasts,

that beg to look much,

criss cross relax open,

a threesome doesn’t work much.

Agreement so we depart.

Eyes closed in an arm chair,

large room and comfy,

surround me with art,

and a small group of friends,

Imagination and myth

stream thru the void.

No art on the walls,

darkness ensues, a stillness overcomes,

a blankness transpires, I can live no more…

I open them again…

Give me a glimpse, if even a fragment,

a never ending relief, inherent in me,

this pleasurable treasure,

this vigorous function,

this criss cross revolver,

paintings on the wall…



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