A Little Surrealist Poem Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The mole's escape ladder is the tilled field
On the threshold of liberty

The harlequin's cat has a zone of avoidance
Behind the circus tent

Oddments, inklings, omens,
The small sad song of moments
Like figures from the tablecloth of Time flying away
The Treachery of Images leers from the false mirror
Through the sunken temples of Atlantis
Fishes battle in the enigma of the hours
The human condition
Grieves in the difficult crossing
From melancholy departure
To the disquieting muses
After all,
The hat makes the man