“Tours of a Baguette with a Bag of Minotaurs”

I’m surprised, I quite find,
That I enjoy the Surreal
I can’t say, in a way,
What’s its precise appeal

The mundane I refrain
From encountering too much
Its veneer, I do fear,
Sometimes serves as a crutch

Some Dalis, if you please,
May seem willfully absurd
And Beckett could wreck it
With an ill-chosen word

But they show, don’t you know,
The subconscious’ upswell
Not reined in, contained in
The boxes of Cornell

They may stun, but they’re fun
Always good for a few laughs
With wordplays and Man Ray’s
Solarized photographs

It’s not real, some would squeal
And while Realism’s a feat
It reflects, but can’t vex
Like the views of Magritte