SurVision Magazine
An international online magazine
that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Issue Ten
JASON HEROUX
In the Evening Museum
In the evening museum
of a winter walk I paused
with my dog in front
of "Still Life
with Fire Hydrant."
Hours went by.
The only other person
around was the security
guard pushing
her shopping cart
through the falling snow.
"Are we open or closed,"
she asked my dog,
who didn't know.
From the Diary of a Stone
Why are people so I don't know. With their shoes always going on and on all over the place. I try to get along with things when I can. For example, when a car passes by after a heavy rain I get along with the sound it makes on the paved river of the road.
My heartbeat sounds like a blind person's cane.
Reflecting back on how little I've done, it's not enough. I must do less. Like grow my shadow steadily, patiently, from year to year and say bless you to the wind whether it sneezes or not. I'll never wear a hat in this life. I'll never chew gum. I'll never chew anything, and I'm fine with never knowing what it's like to wake from a dream. I've seen what chewing gum and waking from dreams does to a person and it's enough to make the moon hide behind a cloud for no reason. It's enough to make a cloud for no reason. I watched as the dust walked with the broom into the dustpan, holding hands, and though I'm convinced the world is real I also believe a lot of things are make believe. Like eight o'clock in the afternoon, or any o'clock anywhere. Everyone knows that heaven is inside the house but what they don't tell you is that you need to know someone who lives there in order to visit.
Jason Heroux is from Canada. He is currently the Poet Laureate for the City of Kingston, Ontario. His most recent book is Amusement Park of Constant Sorrow (Mansfield Press, 2018).
