Sunday, June 25, 2017

My Self-Driving Truck

My Self-Driving Truck
© Surazeus
2017 06 25

For my birthday when I turned twenty-one
my daddy bought me a self-driving truck
so I hopped inside and stretched out my legs
and drank cold beer while my truck drove itself.

My self-driving truck knew just where to go,
so it took me all over the country side,
to the hill-top where we could see the world,
and to the river where I fished all day.

Come on back to me, my self-driving truck,
you are the secret of love and good luck.

Her hair was shining gold in the sunlight
and her eyes were blue as the fishing lake
when I first saw her in white blouse and jeans
walking alone on the hot country road.

My truck stopped short at the flash of her smile
and opened its door, so she slid inside,
then told me her name and tale of her life
while my truck drove us to the grove of trees.

Come on back to me, my self-driving truck,
you are the secret of love and good luck.

I plucked an apple from the tree of life
and as she ate I asked her to be my wife,
but as I leaned close to kiss her sweet lips
my self-driving truck knocked me out the door.

I leaped to my feet and dusted my pants
but found myself alone among the trees
because my new self-driving truck left me
and took off with the sweet girl of my dreams.

Come on back to me, my self-driving truck,
you are the secret of love and good luck.

My self-driving truck left me in the woods
so I wandered to the river to fish
but my truck took my girl and fishing rod
so I wander alone with the blind breeze.

My self-driving truck and my girl left me
and as I wander alone in the woods
I see the dust of its fast-spinning tires
glitter bright in the sunlight that mocks me.

Come on back to me, my self-driving truck,
you are the secret of love and good luck.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Mirror Of Infinite Rays

Mirror Of Infinite Rays
© Surazeus
2017 06 22

Stepping through Mirror of Infinite Rays,
Barbie in a mink fur coat returns home
from palace where the Rainbow Jester plays
mad prophet, and demands the Key to Rome.

While I play guitar on Miami street
she appears before me in flash of light,
then leads me to the Titanic to meet
Wizard of Words who commands her Star Fleet.

Touching my forehead with finger of flame,
Goddess of Death washes lies from my brain,
then restores me to life with her new name
which I search for twenty years in green rain.

Soaring her space ship, we follow Dog Star
to meet my teachers at Paris cafe,
Juvenal, Villon, Blake, Ginsberg, and Sar,
who taught me how to compose magic spells.

Sitting in the ruined Museum hall,
inspired by love, I write Grand Testament
describing the Big Bang on jewel wall,
how light coils into every element.

Spinning on the merry-go-round of time,
we evolve from fish to monkey to god,
and though wisdom is saved in obscure rhyme
our leaders still rule with law-flashing rod.

The molecules that constitute our souls
were coiled in the spiral of the Big Bang
and hologram of change from hot black holes
weaves our bodies where the Horse Fountain sprang.

I pluck ripe apple from the Tree of Truth
and offer it to the horse as my friend,
then sell gold horse toys in the market booth
while our laughing children race with the wind.

I feel infinity beam through your eye
so I attend the Museum at noon
to feast and pretend I am not a spy,
hoping to achieve the power of the moon.

I stand on the mountain and gaze at light
to question Heaven and discover why
I am conscious as me with Second Sight,
dreaming Ideas from vast empty sky.

My sense of self is woven in my brain
by the dreams that all my ancestors lived
which generates my soul from sparkling rain
since my life is but accidental gift.

The automatic actions of my hands
were programmed well by survival techniques
when my ancestors explored fertile lands,
swimming deep lakes and climbing sun-gold peaks.

Leaping from the Cave of Shadows at dawn,
Sirius twirls long scepter with Diamond Eye,
then explains I am nothing but the pawn
of giant gods who watch me from the sky.

While reading Runes on bare branches of trees,
as I was singing in Michigan snow,
I heard my secret name whispered in breeze
that sparks soul of Sky Father in brain glow.

I discard every name that I once bore
to hide the secret name of my new birth,
then hang on the wall every mask I wore
while pretending to reign over the Earth.

Now I am King of Nothing with no name
and play guitar while singing by the sea,
then laugh while watching fools contest for fame
since fruit is fertilized by honey bee.

Ascending mountain of peach trees in mist,
I sit before Kwan Yin ten thousand years
who plays her zither at our secret tryst,
so we make love before Earth disappears.

Since Sun Spider sparked life with the Big Bang
she generates worlds in the Flaring Forth,
so we walk by river where peaches hang
and share lost legends by the glowing hearth.

Eight billion people sing inside my head
so I swirl all their dreams in spell of love,
but, after the world spins and I am dead,
sing together among Golden Foxglove.

You will find the ancient book of your life
on dusty shelf in Library of Souls,
so sing your dreams while Bacchus plays the fife
and we will play our own new-written roles.

After you read these words of magic spells
the sparkling letters that beam visions clear
vanish like stone rings in enchanted wells
which reveals our universe is eye sphere.

Stepping through Mirror of Infinite Rays,
Athena leads me to Temple of Words
where we evolve past the next human phase
so we join the choir of twittering birds.

Barbie In A Mink Fur

Barbie In A Mink Fur
© Surazeus
20 June 1996
Miami Beach, Florida

Draped in a mink fur coat Barbie
strolls down side-walks of gold
past long dark alleys of Manhattan
where gaunt starving children fight
over Twinkies in plastic wrappers.

Wiping her tears she straightens
her tight skirt and breathes deep
to regain her bearing after five
army soldiers tried to rape her
at a hotel and she takes all cash
from their wallets which get tossed
on oil-muddy gutters as bombs fall.

Wandering lost in the parking lots
full of shimmering station wagon cars
a middle-aged housewife rips open
cans of tomatoes with her fingers
to drink the blood of factory machines.

Her little boy clutching red toy Volkswagen
runs laughing toward a flock of birds
that swirls away into the yellow sky.

Frowning Alfred Hitchcock stands knee-deep
in the shallow river of radioactive waste
skin pale as marshmallows in the plastic bag
eyes peering undaunted at the eye
of the camera while the plane screams
overhead toward Scotland that fades
to black and white on the torn-out page
of an encyclopedia full of broken statues.

The middle-aged housewife wanders
among the crowd of housewives who bow
before the television screen praying desperate
to the trinity of broadcasting companies.

Barbie wearing a mink fur coat strolls
through the factory of sweating young girls
chained to their desks in dark cold room
while red sun glitters bright on paradise
of towering mountains that loom in mist
of GuiLin where Kwan Yin weeps
among cherry trees over her dead lion.

Hands bleed as she struggles to make
tennis shoes faster as her pockets are empty
and her heart aches when her boyfriend
is murdered by rampaging Red Guards.

Buddha sits on red television screen
smiling down at three Angels of Charlie
who chase Shining Path guerillas
through the jungles of shopping malls
to hide among twisting cables that shimmer
with the Earth Dream of lost souls.

Gunshots shatter cathedral rose windows
to shards glittering on rain-wet streets
at midnight when Al Chicago King
conquers Illinois and flies south to relax
in Florida hills under blooming oranges.

Johnny Right plays baseball in Brooklyn
dodging swift to run home-run circles
raking in thousands of dollars in cash
from grateful gangsters who buy him
cars and homes in Texas hills
where oil bubbles black as dragon blood.

Leading his gang of bat boys Lord Johnny
battles Sheriff Chavez over abandoned
ranches and opens military schools
where Michael Jackson plays guitar
with Jimi Hendrix on stage in Heaven.

Carmen Miranda is found murdered
at dawn her fruit baskets stolen by thieves
and her unborn baby has small hands
that clasp for life at her wet skeleton
so they weep touching her shattered skull.

Barbie in a mink fur coat walks Paris streets
sniffing coke supplied by pimps who buy
cubist paintings from starving artists
sleeping under Seine bridges of marble.

Santa Clause rides his silver limousine
snoring blind to crowds of starving souls
huddled in alleyways using fridge boxes
as homes but drunk frat boys arrive
swinging baseball bats at vampire bats.

Princess Diana drives her silver sleigh
ringing bells through snow-cold streets
bringing hot apple pies to children
in bare garages who wire computers
for rich information barons in crystal halls
who attend cocktails with fat wives.

Marilyn Monroe looks out her window
at Desolation Row wondering how can I
help ease suffering children but when she dies
murdered by gangsters who shoot her veins
full of poisonous drugs her spirit finds
her mother in a nuthouse riding a tricycle
circles around a television of hissing snow.

I laugh because I weep Rainbow Jester
explains to crowds of dark children
in Central Park who beat him up
and steal his old battered guitar
but the Prophet of Pain runs
with wolves naked in concrete jungle.

Goddess of lost Angels peers intense
through sunglasses at shaggy-haired man
planning how to transform his raw strength
to construct a palace of mirrors
where children gather in shining gowns
to wash their faces and dance at noon
pawns on chessboard Amerika
toys for clowns in pinstripe suits
sitting on skull thrones of blind greed
in glass bank-computer towers
who manipulate market numbers
shutting factories so we the people
drive vans full of kids to Miami
to escape vampires in snow frosted streets
of Yankers where Barbi struts
before movie cameras in mink fur.

Prophet of Pain dances on blinking machines
when glass door opens to reveal Goddess
of Wolves wearing robe of bristling fur
to clasp his howling throat teaching him
how to speak prophecies of doom
then rides her silver chariot while he crouches
on top holding silver bars then leaps
onto Paris Fountain to howl her senseless words
waking windows on high marble wall tower
where eight hundred children repeat
his words with ringing laughter
praising Moon Priestess in mink fur.

Barbi growing old wrinkled yellow skin
rattles plastic pearls and leans close
over Prophet of Pain typing her words
on clacking machine filling blank white scrolls
with photos of women sipping tea
by Jerusalem walls discussing French fashion
when latest messiah to open eyes
beaming light flares of wisdom sits silent
among fluttering pigeons at noon
on empty plaza of Saint Peters Basilica
where Papa Bear huddles in white robes
shivering when chill winds stir restless
on desolate wastelands of Caspian mudflats
where Barbi hitchhikes in mink fur.

Draped in a mink fur robe Queen Barbi
secretary for elected government official
driven from office by television scandal mongers
eager to photograph her face appears
in Paris mist walking over bridge of sorrow
where lovers kiss in sweet afternoon wind
pungent with perfumes from truckload
of expensive bottles shattered to shards
on Rue de Mystere by lawns crowded
with children licking strawberry ice-cream.

Agent Dias grandson of Zeus and Godiva
wearing black overcoat and gray fedora sits
beside her on park bench setting slow
his briefcase then reads newspaper
for five minutes before taking her suitcase
but just as he steps aboard moving train
three agents pump him full of bullets
and jump in white Volvo taking black case
full of diamonds that flicker dreams
of dragons and gods and Angels and queens
so Barbi walks with ten thousand dollars
nowhere hours when she discovers
five men waiting to greet her at her door
so she buys a plane ticket to Miami Florida
wearing mink fur in sultry winter heat.

Goddess of Lost Angels kisses Prophet of Pain
teaching him how to worship her power
to create eternal life in new flesh
as Sun-Spider weaves conscious soul-flares
from molecules beaming web of sunlight
that billows from Heart of Crystal Cathedral
where she sits on Throne of Diamonds
surfing World Wide Web of Illusions
writing laws to preserve social patterns
helping girls and boys discover soul mates
who cuddle under fruit trees by rivers
till two boys argue over one girl and kill
each other staining paradise with blood.

Flowers bloom red from pungent buds
preserving fairies through winter chills
sleeping when snowflakes fall
from Heaven where orange-faced girl
in fur robe walks alone in blue twilight zone
belly swelling ripe with wiggling child
who consumes her blood and organs
to rise from her skeleton husk at spring
reborn fire-master crawling from cave
of eternal life to stand on snow-frosted hills
wearing long wolf fur robe to collect stones
in a ring casting bright red flames where crowds
of shivering Angels appear dancing wild
to keep close to warm diamond throne
worshipping PhoeNikes Flame Victor Girl
who beams distant sunlight through crystal Eye
to spark flames on Altar of Sacrifice.

PhoeNicia wearing royal fur robe
of King Fire-Master holds high
Diamond Eye staff when she finds
crowds of shivering cave-men who gather
to watch tall Witch beam sunlight
to spark flame on twigs so they gather
chanting her name a thousand years
after she disappears down endless road
leading to strange lands over distant hills
where dark men climbing high mountains
fly silver ships floating in Heaven
using her Diamond Eye to capture vision
of today on film preserving flicker
of her soul-flame beyond death
when her flesh crumbles to dust
and her wolf fur robe hangs
in a Manhattan dressing room
of a theater for her star shimmers
on Osorian hills of the golden bear.

Elizabeth wears crown of CleoPatra
riding silver barge flying through mid-Heaven
where Ginsberg scribbles verses
in Book of Laughter and death prophecies
kissing Walt Whitman who blushes delighted
to meet Star Queen who appears
at their table to welcome Santa Claws
to Manhattan for big party inviting Kofi Annan
Emperor of United Nations to share a bottle
of grape wine from Napa Valley
on gold Kalorn hills while Newt and Reno
neck on plastic couch where Ted Kennedy
holds severed head of secretary who drowned
in his wrecked car when he tried to kill her
when he plunged off Chapakwidik bridge
so Buddha meditates on red river shore.

PhoeNicia Flame Priestess arrives noon
at Athens where Princess Athena stands
by sparkling fountain counting fairies
who drowned in midnight raindrops
but her teacher says no those are insects
who suck blood from human vessels
so gaze bold in faces of strangers
to read their souls understanding their reasons
for wanting your twenty billion dollars
so Princess Athena says I want to build
hospitals to house homeless refugees
who flee with gangs of lost children
from distant lands when pirates patrol bays
to raid beaches where fishermen wrestle dragons
for gems that twinkle molecule visions
to record entire history of Earth evolution
when human eyes peer into Pool of Love.

Who is queen of Chessboard Amerika
for I see your face reflected in mirrors
when I turn around seven times at dawn
but my queen disappears into mist
and though I run through maze of palaces
and banks all day I never find her eyes.

Where are you great queen of Amerika
why are you hiding behind soft smile
of young girls who blush sweet and shy.

Where are you secret in your white dress
bored and alone with sad wallflowers
twiddling your fingers for you hide
your blazing eyes behind sunglasses
and your small hand slips in my hand
and you whisper in my ear take me away
so we walk bodies close and warm
as chill winds blow from a restless sea.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Questions Of Heaven

Questions Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2017 06 21

Thunderstorm crackles over mountain peak
as sun beams glitter gold in sheets of rain.
Hard gust of wind blusters through swaying pines
and blows the roof off the four-pillared house.

Nuwa gathers children around her feet
and leads them safe to the sheltering cave.
Huddled together from the wind and rain,
Nuwa and her children watch lightning strikes.

Tall dragon Gonggong rises from the river
and roars at the man twirling wand of flames.
Leaping forward swift on dust-kicking steps,
Zhurong thrusts sharp spear at chest of the dragon.

Terrified of flames writhing at his eyes,
Gonggong thrashes long tail from blinding rage.
Lumbering to escape the god of fire,
Gonggong smashes head into Buzhou Mountain.

The mountain peak crumbles to shattered stones
that clatter tumbling into gushing river.
Mountain erupts in flames that melt cold snow
and gushing rivers flood the fruited plain.

Finding giant shell of a long-dead tortoise,
Nuwa pushes oval shell on its back.
Climbing in the giant shell like a boat,
they hold tight as it twirls on gushing stream.

Sun beams glitter gold from roiling storm clouds,
which illuminate the face of Mother Nuwa.
Sitting in the turtle shell like a boat,
Nuwa sings to calm her frightened young children.

About the first beginning of the world,
who spoke the tale before the dawn of time?
When the sky and the world were not yet formed,
who was alive with eyes to question why?

When dark night and bright day were both obscured,
who could distinguish between them with eyes?
When matter swirled together in wild chaos,
how was it perceived with our watching eyes?

Clearest bright and dimmest dark of wide space,
what forms were made in limits of their bounds?
Shade and Light, Cold and Hot, both blend and mix.
What is the root, and what is the transformed?

The circular globe and nine-tiers of air,
who enclosed them and surveyed all their space?
Who explored and named the mountains and seas,
and who made the world with their crafting hands?

The trees that sprout from rich rain-watered soil,
who first planted their seeds from twinkling stars?
The fruits that blossom from the limbs of trees,
who molded them from the sun and the rain?

Nuwa grabs the hanging branch of a tree
and pulls their turtle shell boat to hard shore.
Nuwa leads her children to the fruit grove
where their house was blown down by the hard wind.

Cutting four pines, Nuwa fashions new pillars,
and erects them on the platform of stone.
Sitting in a circle around warm fire,
they drink fruit juice and sing Questions of Heaven.

Monday, June 19, 2017

In Her Blue Eyes

In Her Blue Eyes
© Surazeus
2017 06 20

When I arrive back at my cottage home
after five years fighting wars for our king
and see gold light glowing warm from my hearth,
I rush through the door I built with my hands
to embrace my wife in my loving arms
but find her in bed with another man.

I stare shocked in surprise to see my wife,
whose brown eyes often gazed at me with love
when we gathered honey from the oak tree,
gasping as the strange man thrust in her heart,
but when she sees my shocked face she shouts wild
and covers her face to hide from my eyes.

I shout loud, "Release now my faithful wife,
and leave this cottage I built with my hands,"
but he grips my throat and snarls in my face,
"This house and woman are mine now, so leave,
or I will crush your head with river stone
and bury you deep in my field of wheat."

He throws me out of my own cottage home
and locks tight the door I made with my hands,
so I rise from mud and walk in dark rain,
remembering when I first saw her brown eyes
and when we kissed under the willow tree
and when she held me tight in the moonlight.

Heart aching with sorrow from bitter loss
to lose my faithful wife and home I built,
I wander lost in wilderness of hope,
plotting to beat him, then reclaim my wife
and drive that cruel stranger from my warm hearth,
but weep in despair on silent lake shore.

Through swirling mist that floats on silver lake,
piercing my heart with ache of longing hope,
I hear sweet voice of some woman ring clear
when she sings on moonlight of my despair,
so I walk through shadows of gold moonlight
and push aside the ivy veil to see.

Young woman with long gold hair and blue eyes
that flash with timeless sorrow of moonlight
stands alone in grove under apple tree,
arms spread wide and hands reaching to the stars,
and sings harmonious melody of joy,
expressing sweet spirit of faithful love.

Enchanted by the moonlight in her eyes,
I float on wings of mist on star-white grass
and stand ten thousand years in silver mist
to gaze down deep in abyss of her soul
where ocean waves of sweet joy swirl around
and flush all aching sorrow from my heart.

She reaches both arms out to hold my hands
and pulls me closer to her heaving breast
and deep inside her body I can feel
the pulsing heartbeat of her longing love
and then our lips touch soft as feather wings
so we become one nameless gleam of light.

She lies back on the dew-wet grass of night
and pulls me deep inside her trembling heart
so we embrace in moonlight of desire
and all the anguish of my bitter loss
flushes outward from fountain of my heart
in aching pang of passion through vast sky.

Wild surging ocean waves of endless joy
flow gushing through the rivers of our hearts
as we express in wordless songs of love
sweet pleasure that pervades the star-white sky
and in the tune of rivers flashing rays
we sing the aching passion of our eyes.

Then when our soul-searing passion is spent,
we gasp for breath in early morning breeze
that cools our bodies clasping in desire,
and from our open eyes we stare surprised,
then smile and kiss beneath the apple tree
as soft white petals flutter in our hair.

Exchanging names in whispers at gold dawn,
we embrace each other with gentle arms
and caress each other with trembling hands,
and in her clear blue eyes I see the sky
enclosing all the world of my lost hopes,
then slide my fingers through her golden hair.

"I am born again in your loving arms,
so I pledge the loyal love of my heart
that I am yours forever in this world,
the faithful guardian of your hearth and home,
for though I lost everything I held dear
I found you, greatest treasure in this world."

Holding hands, we walk side by side all day,
storing in baskets ripe apples and herbs
we gather from lush meadows of our hearts,
then eat together on the flower hill
where gentle breezes swirl around our souls,
and there we kiss beyond the end of time.

Reliving perfect day for forty years,
we hold hands while we walk among the trees,
sing together in the gold morning light
while gathering apples and herbs from wet fields,
and feast together on the lush lake shore,
then make love in the moonlight of our love,
and I float forever in her blue eyes.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Broken Mirror Of Love

Broken Mirror Of Love
© Surazeus
2017 06 18

Clara peels the orange of her heart and smiles.
"Nothing you say makes any sense to me."
Martin trudges desert a thousand miles.
"All I said is that I want to live free."

Clara puzzles the mirror of her mind.
"We are nothing real before we are born."
Martin finds an apple tree without fruit.
"I am not bitter or forlorn at all."

Clara lights a candle before twilight.
"This candle represents my renewed hope."
Martin reaches out to touch the faint star.
"My mind dreamed visions when you played the flute."

Clara watches him in the bowl of water.
"I see you no matter how far you go."
Martin finds a door frame alone on sand.
"Will this door lead back to your secret heart?"

Clara stands silent in the mountain cottage.
"I always think I see you in the mist."
Martin scoops hot sand in his work-callused hands.
"I am the nameless king of all these lands."

Clara sees her reflection in the glass.
"Why am I me and no one else alive?"
Martin watches Mars twinkle by the moon.
"I am every spirit who ever lived."

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Money Messiah

Money Messiah
Angeliad of Surazeus
2010 11 07

Vision of life spirals like a Rubix Cube
in a thousand television tubes that shift
when singing devil descends glass stairs
and his phony long hair catches on fire
and Darth Raygun chokes spirit out of Jesus
and drops him like a puppet in a starship
that spins illusions over city of robots
until second coming of Money Messiah.

I chase beautiful girl of my secret dreams
through a thousand television studios
when Madonna leaves old stone cathedral
and lives in Hollywood standing in lines
hoping for a big break to be a movie star
auditioning on couches and snorting coke
and rides flashy car down Sunset Boulevard
on a late night date with Money Messiah.

Forty years after we conquered Elf Hitler
we rule this planet with nuclear bombs
Goliath wrestling Ivan over North Pole
where jet planes battle around Santa Claus
and Robin Hood dances high on Berlin Wall
while Voldemort falls asleep in White House
and ninety-nine red balloons over Nuremberg
signal second coming of Money Messiah.

Young boy working in a furniture factory
and walking halls of bible church academy
prays alone at night in green glowing rain
where God appears in a flash of gold light
I will pour out my Spirit into your mind
and you my son will prophesy my truth
and you will dream visions of world history
and warn them all about Money Messiah.

Each day of my life and story that I read
and movie I have seen on television screen
is another vision of our world Rubix Cube
that twirls flashing in crystal flying saucer
soaring across space and time to our world
this small bubble of life floating in space
where billions of people work and eat and die
and worship great invisible Money Messiah.

A billion people gather in church each week
and pray to a god dead two thousand years
crying out for him to return to our world
and solve all problems of hunger and war
and transform chaotic swirl of violent life
into perfect paradise of cooperation and love
so we all rise from death after miserable life
and play harps singing for Money Messiah.

When Luke Skywalker battles tyrant father
and Rocky punches out Russian gladiator
and James Bond rides Pegasus motorcycle
and Rambo defeats Predator in jungle rain
and Spock rises from death on paradise planet
he will come without fanfare from nowhere
bringing you secret key of self-actualization
and you will join new cult of Money Messiah.

For God so loves our crazy chaotic world
of factories and movies and corporate banks
he sends down his only son with three angels
to sing about Lucy in heaven with diamonds
so he rocks our world and makes us all dance
and sings imagine everyone living as one
until a lonely man who wants to be famous
fires gun and shoots down our Money Messiah.

Mount Loowit erupts near Emerald City
and I read holy books of a hundred prophets
and unidentified flying objects disappear
and I gaze at Mount Takoma red at dawn
and iron wall of Russia collapses in rubble
and I walk high in Seattle under green rain
and Cthulhu rises from ice waters at midnight
conquered and tamed by Money Messiah.

Televangelist waves black bible on stage
shouting Jesus died to save you from sins
and gave his blood to redeem your soul
then he drives new Cadillac on highway
and romps with prostitutes in seedy motel
then falls to his knees in television church
weeping and wailing for forgiveness of sins
and old ladies write checks to Money Messiah.

Prophet of God who does not want that job
studies astronomy and literature at college
and walks asphalt streets in black boots
and green wool coat flutters in ice winds
where ancient spirits sing in Paloosa Hills
far away west from empire banks of Babylon
while Lady Liberty weeps in gray acid rain
longing for a sweet kiss from Money Messiah.

Who can reassemble our Rubix Cube world
as prophet of release from religious rules
chants everybody dance wang chun tonight
when Lee Jun-Fan arrives in Golden Mountain
to teach Beaver and Lone Ranger Wu Shu
but dead goddess rises at new crescent moon
and we meditate with Wing Chun in Peach Grove
ignoring get-rich seminars of Money Messiah.

Break free from confines of your fears
and fly with Amadeus over city streets
drenched in rain of a thousand lost souls
who die in car accidents and house fires
and scream murdered by men they love
whose names are written in newspapers
but change channel to another movie special
and laugh with comedian Money Messiah.

Lost prophet of truth wanders lone highways
looking for she who is born under western star
then one day watching a television channel
he sees her singing on a bright-lit stage
shaking long hair and holding a microphone
that glitters like magic wand of ancient witch
who casts a spell of peace and love and faith
on people enchanted by our Money Messiah.

Search through maze of Rubix Cube truth
and watch vision of our world change again
as masks of celebrities and politicians shift
when gods play musical chairs in halls of power
while we work all day in factories and cubicles
weaving straw into gold with blistered hands
then stare entranced at television illusions
beaming from wand of our Money Messiah.

When Zarathustra steps from silk curtain
and lights sacred flame for creator Zurvan
will Athena return to Zarathi on eagle wings
to wield scepter of Melusine as world queen
and white book of Astarius will be revealed
teaching that god is an illusion we create
and secret of life is reincarnation in children
another religion founded by Money Messiah.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Kiss In Sparkling Rain

Kiss In Sparkling Rain
© Surazeus
2017 06 14

The vast infinity of outer space
shrinks to a raindrop shining in my hand
when I survey the web of inner space
that sparkles in the neurons of my brain.
I see reflected in my human face
weird mindless contours of our global land
for all the journeys of our human race
are mapped in our skin carved by sun and rain.

I see the journey your ancestors wove
across the landscape of our spinning world
when I gaze in rich fabric of your eye
and read the tapestry of all their lives.
Our mothers are magicians of the stove
who brew love from abyss where death is hurled
so we dance and sing under empty sky
then build garden homes for our clever wives.

I climb tall tangled apple tree at dawn
to fight serpent of lies for sacred fruit,
then scatter seeds in soil of desert waste
to tend New Haven on wild nameless shore.
Though every king was once a childish pawn
we sing hymns while Ishtar plays her bone flute
because blind prophet who returns in haste
is stuck now in the timeless mirror door.

I am no master of the social game,
so I alone in tower with skulls of kings
record ancient history of human gain
how one-eyed soul evolves to World Wide God.
So every year I design my new name
and fly back to Heaven on false owl wings
where I drink mushroom wine to numb the pain
that shows belief in afterlife is odd.

Our eyes perceive atomic beings of light,
then tongue words conjure visions of Ideas,
so brains beam models of one universe
reflecting structure in vast web of quarks.
Construction and destruction define right
though obfuscated by lies from Nicaeas
where man worshipped as God, who suffers curse
of wisdom, plays Jester in public parks.

Since Temple of Truth our ancestors built
crumbles to ruins of devised world view,
and national gods struggle to rule whole globe,
we huddle in shadows of small church walls.
The Fairy Queen who came to cleanse our guilt
stormed power pyramid with victorious crew,
but mad King Midas wearing golden robe
drove her from Heaven with exploding balls.

She wanders in grim wilderness of hope,
lead by the Light-Maker of obvious truth,
and bears the sword of justice under law
who will defeat the tyrant without crown.
Meanwhile we foolish mortals learn to cope
by teaching new ontology to youth
who design strong world view from facts not straw
that build communities in each small town.

When I speak I in song of every soul
I refer not to self in shell of flesh
for we are God in ten billion brains
since we were born from one First Mother Mind.
Though alone I am part of one great whole,
so my dreams shine from universal mesh
that guides our actions with archetype reins
when we play roles that no preacher can find.

All churches of the world may join as one
for all present as heroes of mankind
mortals who comprehend nature of things
then create not destroy in game of love.
Emerging from dark churches to the sun,
we share many stories to weave one Mind,
and gather to feast when First Mother sings
how we make Heaven here and not above.

Though mortal men contend for who plays God
each person who breathes atoms of the air
awakens immortal consciousness bright
within galactic neurons of their brain.
So know that you are God and I am God,
composed of atoms swirling every where,
and we are bodies woven from sunlight
who kiss together in the sparkling rain.

Monday, June 12, 2017

We Play On Stage

We Play On Stage
© Surazeus
2017 06 12

Deep in the shade of mountain woods
where birds tweet bright in rustling trees
and sun gleams gold through rolling clouds
I feel world spirit shine in breeze
that formulates the secret code
which calculates through mythic keys
the game of life we play on stage.

On ancient oak I carve my name
revealing essence of my soul
that regulates in picture frame
the seething pulse of woven whole
so everyone can play our game
of carefree dance around May Pole
to join our show we play on stage.

But who can read the glowing Runes
that flash with lightning in the sky
though I have lived past fifty moons
and dream world history in my eye
while beaming waves of wordless tunes
in aching wings that help me fly
beyond the farce we play on stage.

Old temple in the ancient woods
where voices disappear in gloom
still shelters wanderers from roads
where no sign points the way back home
who feast at hearth then play charades
while nameless gods in exile roam
avoiding why we play on stage.


Thursday, June 8, 2017

Maker Of Light

Maker Of Light
© Surazeus
2017 06 08

Alone in wilderness of talking masks
the boy with three eyes, born inside oak tree,
pours apple cider in new leather flasks
he gives away in the market for free
because the oldest woman in the world
plants apple seeds in the pores of his mind.

Returning home on winding signless road,
the girl who hides her angel wings in coat
of leather shame discards her heavy load
of guilt to jump in the ice lake and float
because the oldest woman in the world
weaves roots of flowers in the eyes of her heart.

Driving new sleek car swift on mountain road,
the man who heals their broken hearts turns wheel
of flashing time to dial the spiral code
which winds back actions of atoms unreal
because the oldest woman in the world
puzzles together his shattered world view.

Beyond the walls of heaven before dawn
the woman with light egg, who knows my name
before I was born, crowns me king from pawn,
and teaches me to play the magic game
because the oldest woman in the world
carves dreamless runes on the plate of my brain.

Though all the blind children of the world play
invented games from long lost memories
of dead ancestors through statues of clay,
Urania will never reveal the keys
because the oldest woman in the world
designs one door special for each born soul.

I watch on flat-top pyramid all night
and stoke the flames that glow on city hearth
because I am the last Maker of Light
who watches star-threads weave life on our Earth
because the oldest woman in the world
reveals the secret of the Flaring Forth.



Religions Are Fan Clubs

Religions Are Fan Clubs
© Surazeus
2011 04 01

I shake my fist at unfairness of death
and stagger in war gasping for breath
but teetering at edge of bleak abyss
I gasp at sweet infinity of mindless bliss.
I knock on door of a Christian church
and stare at a gargoyle on its angry perch
but door is locked and lights are dark
so I huddle to sleep in a freezing park
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Jesus hanging on cross of a telephone pole
sings I died for you to make you whole
to save you from prison for your mistakes
so I break in a grocery store to eat cakes.
I stand each day on street corners to preach
life is a game we play trying to find a beach
so relax to ancient music of swirling waves
until death points a gun at you if Jesus saves
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Religions show values hid in moral tales
centered around heroes and noble men
describing how they conquered despair
to find and share truth of a successful life.
I embrace all religions in my world view
for each reveals secrets of lies and truth
in dramatic lives of founders in their youth
who found way to peace and eternal life
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

How you live your own life each new day
treating other people with hate or respect
reveals power of your heart to create love
building heaven from tombstones and seeds.
Come join us in circle around a warm fire
and tell us a story that is meant to inspire
everyone listening with hope on dark night
that together we may survive till dawn light
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

I play guitar and sing words of my heart
our world will spin ten billion more years
though souls rise and fall in waves of time
so eat an apple and sing behind your tears.
I journey outside pale of my world view
exploring mystery of life in distant lands
traveling sea to shining sea meeting people
yet wherever I roam my heart is my home
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Write honest thoughts of your experience
when you explore beyond silent walls
of paradise to preserve your mind dreams
so later generations see through your eyes.
Each prophet who appeared in history
wrote secrets about justice and liberty
in sacred holy books we read to learn
so join our book club to discuss theology
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Astarius taught God is creator of life
when woman takes seed of man in womb
transforming his spirit into body of flesh
so men protect women with gentle love.
Zoroaster taught God is sense of right
that motivates hearts of noble men to act
defending weak against bullies of greed
in eternal struggle between evil and good
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Adam taught God requires obedience
following laws that govern garden society
where people are rewarded with fruit
for work they succeed in building things.
Seth taught God lives in sun and earth
vibrating music of our vast universe
in stone and flame and wave and wind
that weave our souls from spark of love
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Abraham taught God is invisible soul
of eternal spirit who created everything
and inspires each person to set a goal
to raise a child who will love and sing.
Brahma taught God is light of truth
who lives inside hearts of honest men
who bathe clean in waters of control
managing chaos of blind desire with law
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Socrates taught God is question of truth
asking arrogant men fighting for power
how does might make right in cruel war
when good justice is actions of strength.
Plato taught God is Idea of True Man
who is born in flesh and dies in time
investigating mysteries of natural truth
and reasoning with logic of spoken word
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Kung Fu Tzu taught God organizes men
to honor elders and follow good rules
by digging canals that water fields of rice
and building walls that protect paradise.
Lao Tzu taught God cannot be named
for spirit of truth sparks awake in dark
and guides men through maze of chaos
by acting without acting to create order
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Mithra taught God emanates with peace
when men argue over water and land
by talking about their hopes and dreams
so men cooperate to create not destroy.
Krishna taught God guides your steps
to dance without care in garden of fruit
holding hands with kind people you love
to sing enchanted in heaven of your heart
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Buddha taught God is your pure mind
when you meditate on meaning of life
and realize desire grips you with misery
so transcend lust and attain mindless bliss.
Jesus taught God appears in human form
when man and woman make sweet love
attaining eternal life in reincarnated soul
who lives again in flesh of child we raise
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Mani taught God appears from gloom
bringing light to illuminate our hearts
when humans convert hunger to hope
evolving from animal to angel with love.
Rumi taught God sleeps in our hearts
waiting for right moment we realize truth
then wake twirling to dance on our feet
arms spread wide to embrace pure joy
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Meroveus taught God is music of love
that rings from harp of truth we strum
enchanting spirit of joy in human hearts
to dance with lovers in Arcadia reborn.
Mohamad taught God transcends form
and vibrates in shimmering eternal soul
so bow submitting your heart to peace
and raise your hands to sunlight of truth
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Martin Luther taught God comes home
to sit at our tables and listen to prayers
when men change actions of their hands
by transforming their hearts with faith.
Bahaullah taught God is gate of truth
we open to seek mystery of this world
and follow path in labyrinth of despair
to sit by a river and sing with our friends
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Gandhi taught God operates just laws
organizing people to work as one mind
by treating other humans with equal respect
offering opportunities to work and create.
Surazeus teaches God is reborn again
from Egg and Sperm of woman and man
for eternal soul generates bodies of flesh
as we attain consciousness with deep breath
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

Ten thousand prophets in history game
taught secrets of God in human hearts
so instead of following one man alone
read and discuss all their tales as a whole.
Collect writings of all prophets in one book
and attend every church and synagogue
and discuss truth in temple and mosque
for God does not live in building or book
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Look in your own heart with honest eye
instead of looking for God in empty sky
and write story of your life seeking truth
recording your path to heaven from youth.
Dance around me at Fountain of Love
and crown me your King of Fools in jest
and laugh when mask of faces dissolves
to reveal meaning of life is to do your best
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with magic powers.

I see God in eyes of every human being
whose animal flesh enshrines an angel soul
so rise from earth and spread your wings
to sing together as light makes us whole.
I palm my hands at unfairness of death
and dance in peace taking a deep breath
so when I teeter at edge of bleak abyss
I gasp at sweet infinity of mindless bliss
because religions are oversized fan clubs
for dead celebrities with sacred books.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Telephone Of My Heart

Telephone Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2015 08 20

https://soundcloud.com/surazeus/telephone-of-my-heart

The telephone of my heart rings and rings
and laughing woman without sorrow sings
because my father wanders in dark woods
and talks with honest invisible ghosts,
though tower of stone his father built
crumbles under fierce hurricane of guilt.

I reach my hand to grasp the glowing stone
where spirits dwell who show future events
so when I walk the street from door to door
I sell salvation to the hopeful fools
who give me all their money for a chance
to live in paradise behind locked gates.

I solve the puzzle of your paradigm
that moment when you try to hide your keys
so I open every door that you fear
which leads to the garden of holy lime
where we learn how to talk with honey bees
although you must keep your fateful star near.

From the car window I watch tall trees dance,
then swim in the muddy lake of your heart,
floating on my back under empty sky,
and wonder if I will ever return
to the cozy home I built with bare hands,
after they drove us all away with guns.

We find a free vale on the tattered map
our jester stole from the mad sleeping king,
so we build new homes on the river shore
and carve faces of demons on oak trees
we wear as masks to the stone church at dawn
where Amen teaches us how to sing hymns.

I hide my spirit in the Book of Lies
then stand by the lake where the raven cries,
plant herbal seeds in the cold squishy mud,
talk with the milk cow while she chews her cud,
and plot how to build vast empire of power
where calculating robots sing to flowers.

The empire that we know will fall apart
at turning of stars every eighty years,
so we construct from glamorous fantasy
new empire where I will reign as your god
and you will donate enough willing tithe
so I can buy a mansion in the sky.

I need a new helicopter to fly
like Jehovah over cities of men
so I can judge their actions good or bad
and they will bow down to worship my face
and repeat doctrines I declare are true
or they will forfeit all they own to me.

The telephone of my heart fails to ring
but angel of death refuses to sing,
so I will stand on flat-top pyramid
and watch over market where greedy men
buy and sell our souls for round disks of gold,
and we sing while we slave in fields of wealth.

I will snatch book of your life with sly stealth
and explain how your memories got sold
and your mind was sealed inside the clear gem
that glitters on the flat-top pyramid
where I meditate till my broken wing
is repaired, and I am crowned your last king.

I toss away this heavy crown of power,
like children toss orange peels on dusty shore,
and sit in silence with you by loud falls
to count every bright drop that falls in rain
till I hide paradise inside stone walls
and forbid you to enter my domain.

The wagon on which my father arrived,
lost immigrant to this strange land of hope,
sits frail, cracked and submerged in weeds and mud,
since I can never return to his home
while I reign over this castle as king,
and my sons extract taxes from your hands.

The telephone of my heart rings again
so I stand in the doorway of my home,
watching cars race each other for more wealth,
and explain to young children without eyes
how stars beam pure threads of light to create
everything that exists within our dream.

Sunday, June 4, 2017

This Land Is Our Land

This Land Is Our Land
© Surazeus
2017 06 04

"American democracy needs
the citizen-poet to address a gamut
of difficult-to-solve public issues
such as cultural fragmentation,
national health care, decrepit infrastructure,
threats of terrorism, energy consumption,
climate change, nuclear proliferation, warfare,
poverty, crime, immigration, and civil rights."
From This Land Is Our Land by David Biespiel.

The vast fertile land of America
was once one unified culture of thought
that supported rigid supremacy
of white Anglo-Saxon Protestant clans,
but now fragments into ten thousand groups
of people from every nation on Earth,
who all live together in harmony,
every religion and race in one land,
united strong in our multiplicity,
one nation out of many incorporate,
secured on foundation of liberty
as we sing with one voice of honest love,
this land is our land where we all live free.

So long ago in small quaint country towns
doctors would attend patients at their homes
to offer potions that heal broken bodies
with hands that comprehend needs of our minds,
but now well-trained doctors with rubber gloves
attend without emotions unnamed patients
who lie alone in silent well-lit cells
in sprawling hospitals with sterile rooms,
then charge thousands of dollars for their care
that bankrupt our families with despair
when insurance companies will not pay
for pre-existing conditions of death.

When America transformed from small farms
into industrial empire that rules Earth,
with jet planes that patrol the seas and skies,
our fathers built roads sea to shining sea
with bridges that connect across vast plains
sprawling cities with towers of steel and glass
all woven together in web of wires
beaming voices and electricity,
but now bridges rust, asphalt highways crack,
factories that produced goods are boarded closed,
abandoned behind fences of barbed wire,
and homes crumble from the gnawing of time.

Inspired by tall statue of Liberty,
that channels spirit of wise Artemis,
we fight for freedom from blind tyranny
so every person may follow their dream
through full freedom of assembly and speech
to do as we will if we harm no one,
but now religious fundamentalists
of Abramists, both Christian and Muslim,
and angry white nationalists, will commit
terrorists actions of horrible violence
against our way of Liberal tolerance
to destroy our open Democracy.

Harnessing bold energy of the horse,
our faithful friends from lush Sarmatian meadows,
we plowed fields to grow golden wheat for bread,
rode into battle to defend our homeland,
and hauled wood and stone to build healthy homes,
but now we pump oil from heart of the Earth
to fuel trains, cars, trucks, airplanes, and computers
which operate our vast network of bright cities
shining day and night with electric sprites,
and race faster and faster in vast maze
of ambitious wealth to conquer the world
while horses graze forgotten in fenced fields.

This swiftly spinning sphere of dirt and water,
that spirals around the hot nuclear sun,
produced plants that convert carbon dioxide
to generate atmosphere of oxygen
which nourishes souls with organic brains
through gentle fluctuations of temperature
in florid cycle of seasonal change,
but now factories and gas-guzzling cars
shatter the fragile ozone layer of air,
allowing radiation from the sun
to heat our globe with searing rays of light
that disrupts frail balance of heat and cold,
so melting ice will flood enormous cities
and tornadoes smash homes by flooding rivers.

Ten thousand years men fought wars to play God,
tribal leaders ruling nations of men
from pyramids, temples, castles, and towers,
by wielding scepters, swords, and guns to fight
and secure their reign through strong dynasties,
but now, since Albert Einstein dreamed that mass
of a body times the speed of light squared
equals kinetic energy of that body,
warriors build blasting bombs cased in missiles
that trigger nuclear fission to split atoms
which annihilates huge cities in one blast
killing thousands of people with black fire.

Each group of people struggling to survive
against hostile wilderness of brute nature
choose a wise leader to organize action
in ruthless battle against hungry beasts,
and thus transform into national empires
that battle each other to rule the land
of fertile meadows and fresh flowing streams,
as each dynasty of mortal kings claims
divine right to assimilate all nations,
but now United Nations meets in council
to foster cooperation through peace
between different cultures that unifies
all nations into one tribe of mankind.

Since our ancestors landed on lush shores
of America, past four hundred years,
we worked hard with our hands to build new world
and gain well-earned wealth in constructive play,
so everyone willing to apply craft
and join unions who support higher wages
could purchase a house and car to live well,
but now billionaires bribe our senators
to give them tax cuts so they hoard the wealth
they gain from the straining work of our hands,
then move their factories to foreign lands
so they can pay workers less as they slave,
thus one percent own as much wealth and land
as ninety-nine percent who slave all day
for just enough sparse money to survive.

Once every man could earn a living wage,
gaining enough to feed his wife and kids,
then send his kids to school to learn good skills
so they can work to build our nation well,
unless their skin was dark from desert sun,
brought over from their homeland in hard chains
and forced to work without pay so white men
steal enormous wealth on their sweating backs,
but now, though they were freed from slavery
by civil war to defend liberty,
they struggle to live, though denied good jobs,
and survive in cycle of poverty,
so they steal and sell drugs to gain fat cash,
refusing to work in system of wealth
rigged against their right to work and live well.

Ten thousand years ago we all spread out
from land of Egypt to populate valleys
of streaming rivers all around the globe
when first Americans walked across ice
Siberia to Alaska, and flowed down
to build pyramids and grow golden corn,
but now, since my first ancestors from England
arrived by boat across Sea of Atlantis,
people from every land of the Old World
immigrate to the Land of Opportunity
founded on the principle that free will
and equal rights of every living person
secures liberty for all to share space
and live together in communities
based on justice for all who cooperate.

Since we fought against monarchy of kings
from power of one man to rule all men
without consent of the governed to vote,
we elect representatives to write
laws that secure full rights for every person,
freedom of speech and the press to write stories
that reveal the truth, freedom to assemble,
freedom to bear arms in defense militia,
freedom from housing soldiers without consent,
freedom from search without warrants of cause,
freedom from imprisonment without charge,
freedom to be tried in a court of law
observed by an impartial jury of peers,
freedom to be treated with common respect,
freedom to work for fair wages and tax,
and freedom to live wherever we want,
secure that each person has civil rights
that provides haven to live within law.

This land is our land that we all must share,
people from every religion and race,
living according to the golden rule,
treat others as you want them to treat you
so do what you want if you harm no one,
for this life here and now on spinning world
is the only life we will ever have,
together dwelling sea to shining sea,
dedicated to the true proposition
that all people are born with equal rights.

How can we address these difficult issues
that beset our noble democracy,
designing standard ontology of truth
that describes true nature of our universe,
and provides basic law of moral rights
that harnesses passion of human action
so we can create rather than destroy
and live together in sweet harmony
in social game where every breathing person
receives same opportunities and rights?

Out of many one nation of good people
blossoms from the rich meadows of our land
so we gather at the fruit tree that sprouts
on the river that flows by the safe haven
in the garden we built with loving hearts
to feast on food we grow with our own hands
and sing the stories that describe our lives,
for this land is our land that we all share.

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Our Indifferent Universe

Our Indifferent Universe
© Surazeus
2017 06 02

https://soundcloud.com/surazeus/our-indifferent-universe

Our vast universe pulsing with huge stars,
composed of nothing more than flashing atoms,
may be indifferent to our frail existence,
since swirling spheres of burning helium
psyche not with consciousness like our brains,
but I care about every soul alive.

The flames of light that blast from pulsing stars
spiral into planets which cradle seas
like cauldron brewing stew of chemicals
where rings of carbon rainbow into coils
of deoxyribonucleic acid who wakes
into single-celled eyeball of First Mother
who created all living souls on Earth.

Swimming toward the orgiastic light of love,
we race each other into eye of dreams
where helix flashes lattice of soul beams
to replicate itself in web of bulbs
which eye as grapes on curling vine of minds
and thus transform to hungry tetrapod
who crawls river of light to sparkling lake.

Atoms evolve into organic minds
who perceive ourselves mirrored in our eyes
to reincarnate when sperm activates
mechanic soul of operating rings
so egg mutates through each transforming state
of physical change when bodies evolve
from one-eyed cell to two-eyed tetrapod.

Our universe may be indifferent,
not caring whether we all live or die,
but we frail humans care about each other,
so we conjugate minds and work together
to construct paradise in wilderness
of hungry death, and thus celebrate life
through feast and song in social fellowship.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Ginsberg And Whitman At Walmart

Ginsberg And Whitman At Walmart
© Surazeus
2011 04 07

https://soundcloud.com/surazeus/ginsberg-and-whitman-at-walmart

What thoughts I have of you tonight,
Allen Ginsberg, with your bristling beard
like Saturn with his curling goat horns,
for I drive down strip mall among stores
shimmering bright with lights after dusk
that glitter on metal shells of zooming cars,
and look up but I cannot see any moon
for skies are bright with metropolitan lights.

In my bored misery of existential faith
pretending national government of power
will not be shut down by tea-drinking clowns,
I turn into vast parking lot outside Walmart
and walk slow under shimmering purple sky,
hoping to find civility and justice for all
packaged for sale in plastic under blue signs.

Striding through great glass sliding doors
like arch over a cathedral of a lost religion,
I see hundreds of people walking long aisles
pushing carts heaped with clothes, boxed food,
movie disks, romance novels, music disks,
cheap furniture, plastic bottles, and brooms
to decorate hidden homes of their sitcom lives.

I see Homer playing on an electric piano,
and Ovid reading computer magazines,
and Dante trying out a new white Eye Pad,
and Shakespeare playing a war video game,
and Milton lacing up a pair of hiking boots,
and Dali looking into heart of a chicken egg,
and Bob Dylan buying bikes for his kids.

I see you, Allen Ginsberg, childless prophet
of madness and grinning, lonely, old grubber
poking among meats and drawing smiley faces
in frost on glass of open refrigerator doors
as you eye grocery boys asking each one,
are you my angel come with a bright sword
for I am King of May wearing a plastic crown
thrusting pen spears at dragons of oil-rigs.

Allen Ginsberg at Walmart stops at a table
with romance novels and programming books,
but covers them with books about Buddhism
and sexual Tantra and spiritual enlightenment
and star messengers and pictures of Green Tara
who floats meditating over lotus of sweet truth,
and he leans on his cane with a painful smile
and beckons I approach like Saturn in his cave.

I open my black book splattered with drops
of rain smearing words of poems I wrote,
and he takes fountain pen forged by Vulcan
dipped in black blood of generals and tyrants,
and scribbles ten thousand thought spells,
and draws cartoons of Moses on Mount Sinai
meditating with Buddha under light of Jehovah
who glides over Earth in a silver flying saucer.

Where are you going, mad Allen Ginsberg,
with beard bristling full of spiders and snakes,
because doors of Walmart stay open all night,
so we could find Walt Whitman in vast parking lot
trying to open door of his rusty pickup truck,
and we can drive together along Chattahoochee
and sit on river shore passing around a pipe,
and sing mantra spells from our holy books.

Will we laugh, dreaming of lost America of love,
as we race howling over bridge of tomorrow
past shining automobiles on superfast highways
home to apartment complex by a shopping mall
with giant flat-screen televisions and computers
that weave ten million minds in supersoul cyberspace,
liking pictures and thoughts in face-book world,
and twittering endless stream of conscious hopes.

Dear father greybeard, mad old courage-teacher,
what America thriving on ambition and greed
and ruling Earth with roaring bull of Wall Street,
did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry
and you got out on smoking bank of Zarathi,
and stood watching boat disappear in mist
on black water of Lethe in forest of missiles
that spread steel claws over great cities of glass.

I saw you on stage in Seattle, ageless jester
shouting into a microphone, whom bomb
we bomb you, as audience of college students,
aging hippies in suits, and thought-painters
listened in polite silence under golden lights,
then clapped with deference for prophecies,
glad you did not howl and strip down naked
as they drove to Star Bucks for a cappuccino.

I wandered alone Seattle to Denver to Miami,
sitting under bridges at midnight writing poems
and listening to terror from quiet car engines
that hummed on highways toward my paradise,
and walked wearing backpack full of words
to play stringless guitar by water fountains
while tourists threw dollar bills in my fedora.

I see you no more in Walmart or Manhattan,
mad Allen Ginsberg, prophet of secret truth,
so are you walking with Walt Whitman now,
holding hands with Dionysus in Elysian fields,
dancing and laughing with Orpheus and Lorca
where sun always shimmers on distant hills
and apples fall ripe into your generous hands?