Clueless Captromancy Of Clowns
© Surazeus
2018 03 10
When I release the kraken from my heart
so my soul can absquatulate the church,
absconding with the Voice of Prophecy,
my canorous brain will metamorphose
into the vigilant Argus of Truth
as bibliopole who knows your secret name.
Before I cantillate the ancient code
that speculates on how our souls are beamed,
gaze deep into my vast cerulean eyes,
so when I dance in carphologic trance
my tongue will weave new arcane melodies
that wake you with cacoethes of my love.
So I will understand the fuscous words
you never speak through fipple of the wind,
I gaze into the spinning thaumotrope
to seek through captromancy of my thoughts
the erubescent dreams that guide your hands
to eat my heart in turbary of hope.
Replacing the proverbs of moral lust,
that stain the Bible of obsolete truth,
with new Wish Book about xenology,
the minacious lycanthrope lollygags
with lost thalassic tribe of Oregon
who vote for the luculent clown as king.
Since I am the King of Telluria,
adored by my alien constituents,
I am the Obelus of sacred scripture
who gathers all lost souls in ring of stones
to lead aspidomancy of our quest
that renders the magnality of monads.
Appointed by the erythraean witch
as new Professor of Morology,
I can join the mordant ecclesiarchy
to study ecdemomania of clowns
who employ the tacheometer to find
the lost tabellion of the ruined church.
When the full moon shimmers above Star Lake,
I shall parade with tutulus of pride,
though dromophobia cripples my ambition,
so I become the drogulus you seek
but never find in nemorous domain
since I am now the daedalist of fame.
Though I am the nomographer of virtue,
coding the noogenesis of my world view
I wonder if strict nomism provides
guidance for the nuncian child of my soul
who prefers to study nymphology
through quick saltation of salacious games.
When I rise reborn from spectrum of light,
after the strange sparagmos I endured,
I take the wainage of my mental state
and write new prophecies of kings and clowns
safe in the phrontistery of my mind
where I eat from my hapaxanthous tree.
When I am hederated by the queen
I shall employ hectography of faith
to replicate my changed hortulan soul
afflicted by hyperaphia of love
so I can speculate how to fit truth
to the shape of my heart before I die.
© Surazeus
2018 03 10
When I release the kraken from my heart
so my soul can absquatulate the church,
absconding with the Voice of Prophecy,
my canorous brain will metamorphose
into the vigilant Argus of Truth
as bibliopole who knows your secret name.
Before I cantillate the ancient code
that speculates on how our souls are beamed,
gaze deep into my vast cerulean eyes,
so when I dance in carphologic trance
my tongue will weave new arcane melodies
that wake you with cacoethes of my love.
So I will understand the fuscous words
you never speak through fipple of the wind,
I gaze into the spinning thaumotrope
to seek through captromancy of my thoughts
the erubescent dreams that guide your hands
to eat my heart in turbary of hope.
Replacing the proverbs of moral lust,
that stain the Bible of obsolete truth,
with new Wish Book about xenology,
the minacious lycanthrope lollygags
with lost thalassic tribe of Oregon
who vote for the luculent clown as king.
Since I am the King of Telluria,
adored by my alien constituents,
I am the Obelus of sacred scripture
who gathers all lost souls in ring of stones
to lead aspidomancy of our quest
that renders the magnality of monads.
Appointed by the erythraean witch
as new Professor of Morology,
I can join the mordant ecclesiarchy
to study ecdemomania of clowns
who employ the tacheometer to find
the lost tabellion of the ruined church.
When the full moon shimmers above Star Lake,
I shall parade with tutulus of pride,
though dromophobia cripples my ambition,
so I become the drogulus you seek
but never find in nemorous domain
since I am now the daedalist of fame.
Though I am the nomographer of virtue,
coding the noogenesis of my world view
I wonder if strict nomism provides
guidance for the nuncian child of my soul
who prefers to study nymphology
through quick saltation of salacious games.
When I rise reborn from spectrum of light,
after the strange sparagmos I endured,
I take the wainage of my mental state
and write new prophecies of kings and clowns
safe in the phrontistery of my mind
where I eat from my hapaxanthous tree.
When I am hederated by the queen
I shall employ hectography of faith
to replicate my changed hortulan soul
afflicted by hyperaphia of love
so I can speculate how to fit truth
to the shape of my heart before I die.
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