Is this my life? It still seems so surreal
Who plans to turn reality to “sur?”
It’s just a word like blades are only steel
All words know how to split or else demur
My life depends on all that I perceive
Perceptions twist reality around
This volta is the sonnet I retrieve
Without my feet upon the solid ground
I guess I’m not a song; I’m just a turn
I’ve turned my life to rhythm and to rhyme
I’d turn it to a tree, but it might burn
I’d turn it to a rock, but that takes time
I don’t have time to understand the word
I guess that’s why “surreal” seems so absurd.