Surrealism

Infallibly, entropy swallows us.

Patient is unstable but functional for now.

In the half-light, the road ahead narrows me into a horizon.

To the east of the pontifical archway, God and I lie asleep.

I plunge in my arm, my torso, the weariness and the shame.

At the banquet sat the magicians, with their emptied spells, the alchemists and their formulas of wayward hope…