Hiding Within Surreal Spaces
I. First Surreal Space
“The fury of concrete irrationality…” Salvador Dali
To begin when I awoke in daylight.
I stood upon the floor but not the moon
I wondered if I woke up way to soon
to watch a finch in window start his flight.
I rubbed the sleep from sleepy eyes to see
the earth of garden taking larger shape
of prisoners trying to find escape.
Open haunted mouth and limbs like branched tree.
Though fear had taken over my own voice
I placed my hand upon the window pane
to feel the cold of glass and know the real.
I heard a female voice whisper “your choice”
as sunshine behind a Cross of Lorraine
and unknown breezes turned my prayer wheel.
II. Second Surreal Space
“The mind of the dreaming man is fully satisfied with whatever happens to it.” Andre Breton
As wood and rock before me come to life
before my eyes I see each molecule.
It seems that reason and my sight must dual
my senses painting with a palette knife.
I figure to survive I must relax.
Yet, when I close my eyes this all depends,
the itching of small ants upon my lens!
Upon my will to ignore these attacks.
To sit and look as if I’m satisfied.
Yet, know there is a hole within my chest
where wooden gears will rotate on a rhyme
in memory of notions who have died
and inanimate objects now possessed.
To frame within a surreal paradigm.
III. Third Surreal Space
“To all appearances, the artist acts like a mediumistic being who from the labyrinth beyond time and space seeks his way out to a clearing.” Marcel Duchamp
Her hair once laid upon this pillow earth.
I stare upon this space with empty heart,
to know my life is but a tragic art
from where I lay back to my time of birth
where must I roam to find my lover lost
somewhere inside my mirror by my bed
where moon water reflects her face instead.
I jump right in without a thought of cost.
There find myself unable to stop dance
upon the walls of mysterious rooms
a music heard as soft Paper Mache.
When nothing seems to break me from this trance
these objects all alone hidden in tombs.
I find my voice, “Touche, Touche, Touche.”
IV. An End?
“I admit my solitude – there is no other way. But I feel as though I were on a wreck out to sea.”
As a guest like Orpheus in Hades
to find Eurydice and take her home
together create songs with perfect tone
surrounded by a buzzing of some bees.
I float upon a blackened nothingness
with arms outstretched and legs behind as kick
I look behind my shoulder and feel sick
Eurydice is gone to emptiness.
As quickly as the moment of goodbye
I leave my bed to put on daily clothes
and repeat this action multiple times.
Enter the world of work to satisfy
a need to write some polyphonic prose
where wooden gears will rotate with some rhymes.