SURREALISTIC POETRY. Part 1

THE IMPOSSIBLE FORMULA

EVERY WEEK SHOULD BE ALLOWED 8 PAGES TO TELL ITS STORY
AND EVERY HUMAN BEING SHOULD HAVE 8 DAYS
IN THEIR LIFE THAT REALLY TRULY COUNT.
8 TIMES 8 IS 64.
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN 9 AND 7 = 2.
6 PLUS 2 = 8.
4 TIMES 2 = 8.
8 TIMES 8 IS 64.
64 IS 12 MORE THAN 52.
12 IS ONE 8 AND A HALF ANOTHER 8 (4)
SO 12 IS ONE AND A HALF 8'S.
ALL THESE THINGS THOROUGHLY UNDERSTOOD CAN EQUAL
8 GREAT PAGES IN LIFE AND MAKE LIFE GREATER THAN
AN EIGHT DAY WEEK.
THIS IS THE IMPOSSIBLE FORMULA
I TRY TO FATHOM DAILY.
THIS IS MY LIFE -FATHOMLESS.

ALL THINGS

WRINGING;
SQUEEZING;
EVERY LAST POSSIBLE DROP,
TRYING TO FULFILL THE RECIPE OF LIFE.
KNEE DEEP IN EMOTION.
SKULL DEEP IN LIVING.
CROSSING BONES,
THREADING ARTERIES,
TRYING TO BREATHE SOME LIFE
INTO THIS QUIET SEMI DEATH.
I AM HERE.
I AM THERE.
I AM EVERYWHERE.
I AM ALL THINGS. LIVING IN THIS DEATH WE CALL LIFE.

WHITE BALLERINA SHOES

WHITE BALLERINA SHOES,
DANCE FOR ME
THE FANCY WAY
I NEVER COULD DANCE,
BLACK VEIL OF ILLUSION,
CURTAINS OF LIFE FALLING,
SHAWLING,
OVER MY EYELIDS,
DISGUISE THESE THINGS
THAT ARE TOO PAINFUL
FOR MY EYES TO BEHOLD.
WHITE BALLERINA SHOES DANCE,
THAT YOU MAY NEVER GATHER DUST
AS I DO.
DANCE WHITE BALLERINA SHOES DANCE.
DANCE ONCE MORE FOR ME BEFORE THE CURTAIN FALLS.

THE BEST PART

WITH THE BEST PART OF US LOST,
VIOLINS AND PIANOS
COULD NOT MAKE A MELODY OF ME
WHEN I WAS WITH YOU.
ORCHESTRAS AND SYMPHONIES
COULD NOT MAKE A SONG OF YOU
WHEN YOU WERE WITH ME.
ARRANGERS AND COMPOSERS
COULD NOT ORGANIZE
OUR BIZARRE MASTERPIECE OF MUSIC
INTO A HEARTFELT HARMONY,
AND A SONG IS NOT A SONG WHEN YOU'VE LEFT THE BEST PART OUT.

CHOICES

EVERYBODY HAS THEIR OWN SECRET WORDS
THEY MAY NOT CHOOSE TO SPEAK.
EVERYBODY HAS THEIR OWN TENDER CHAINS
THEY MAY NOT WISH TO BREAK,
AND EVERYBODY'S PASSED A ROAD THEY DID NOT CHOOSE TO TAKE.
AND WHAT OF THE ROAD NOT TAKEN?
DID IT TWIST AND TURN VIOLENTLY, CAUSING UPHEAVAL & RUTS,
OR DID IT CURVE AND WEAVE GENTLY, ON RAINBOWED PAVEMENTS?
AND -
IF I COULD GO BACK IN TIME
WOULD I STILL PASS THAT ROAD I CHOSE NOT TO TAKE?
WHAT OF THE WORDS NOT SPOKEN
THAT WERE PERCHED SO EAGERLY ON MY LIPS
WAITING PATIENTLY FOR THEIR CHANCE TO BE FREE?
DID THEY DIE IN SILENCE? DID THEY DROWN IN FEAR,
OR ARE THEIR GHOSTS STILL CHAINED IN MY MIND?
UNSPOKEN REFRAINS AND UNBROKEN CHAINS LED ME PAST THE ROAD NOT TAKEN.