Surreal

<p class=ql-align-justify><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>Where does the line between the real and the unreal begin and end? At this point is there even a distinction anymore?  </span></p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>Or perhaps it lies somewhere in the gray area of the </span><em style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>surreal</em><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>. A term with all its vast connotations that also serves as the only too appropriate title of Victor Marrero's latest poetry collection (following his previous works </span><em style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>Atlas Bound</em><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)> and </span><em style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>Reprise</em><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>).  </span></p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(34 34 34 1)>With his dense and evocative prose style Marrero chips away at the veneer of the so-called real to get to something even more real: the truth. Yet like many of us he often arrives at the conclusion that increasingly it's all but impossible to genuinely know. </span></p><p></p>