Surrealism

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For millennia he sat and wondered about the zebra mussels under his skin. Why does she stare like she’s some twelve dollar street artist on the corner of Baker and William? I can’t remember the last time we had an invitation to something so splendiferous to be held under the streets of Berlin. The felt felt nice on my computer screen when she leapt over my ears and rang out the bell of midevening. Speed up so you don’t get lost although there is something to be said for escaping this place. I haven’t any flats to let to a fine strapping handsome one like yourself unless you came here for the wrong reason. Put them on and turn down your mind or you might not feel it coming. The clock strikes the recycling bell as we go outside until our words no longer come. I can no longer express the garbled food that we are unable to feel. Clouted with my few and no longer among the many, we can’t and I can’t produce this meaning which has overtaken my entire can of worms. This ball of wax is much bigger than that ballgame. The early worm can’t wake up this late on a night like today. Come and get dizzy as we ring around your rosy cheek with my long finger and your warted nose. Up your nose with a garden snake and a long line of teenagers waiting to get into the guard dog’s house on my block without any regard for those that are sleeping in this long and cold daytime. The sun comes down on the full and small repertoire of feline actors and Thelonious monks.

Is surrealism the only way to break the bonds of language and reach the real?