Dead End Sign
© Surazeus
2018 04 20
Slouching against the yellow Dead End sign,
while waiting for my daughter on the bus,
I watch black ravens in the Southern Pine
discuss the indifference of the blue sky.
I wave to every stranger who drives by,
who wonder if the old guy with long beard,
who watches them through Blues Brothers sunglasses,
is the spy from the rebellious empire.
Driving Black Mustang Miami to Alaska,
Mona Lisa gives me a ride to Elysium
where we search for the jewel of ancient truth
that shines hidden by splendor in the grass.
My brain is nothing but the radio
receiving transmissions from your weird brains
so I record in verse your true nightmares
that motivate you to head out to work.
I live at the far end of Dead End Road
where Plato talks about Idea forms
how every tree that exists in real matter
projects from changeless concept of The Tree.
All the lost children of America
gather at the Museum on Saturday night
to watch the Judge and the Jester play chess
over who plays Christ on the Crucifix.
When any man plays prophet of the empire
after he plays Hamlet on the London stage
the King in the Golden Mask with no eyes
will crucify him on the telephone pole.
Now that I wrestled Jesus off the throne
and play the harp of David in Our Temple
I throw coins of joy to every lost soul
who gathers to feast in the Hall of Dreams.
Mona Lisa drives to Los Angeles
with skull on her American flag tee-shirt,
singing the Highways Blues in the Waste Land
while listening to Tally Hall on her Eye Phone.
Sunlight on my back yard grass reveals why
no one knows the Queen of America
who dances alone on the field of grass
somewhere between Seattle and Manhattan.
While I sit on the back porch of my home,
drinking white wine labeled The Winking Owl,
I ponder poetics of Monotony
that inspire me to chant Riddles on Death.
Every person I see alive and well
will fall into the Empty Void of Death,
so I kiss Mona Lisa in the flowers
who reincarnates our immortal soul.
After smoking the Flower of Awareness,
Mona Lisa and I gaze up at the stars
that reveal the mystery of the First Flash
that flares forth into the White Whole of Love.
Dropping me off home at my Dead End sign,
Mona Lisa smiles lightning in my heart,
then drives into the vast indifferent sky
while singing vibrant tune of Helium.
© Surazeus
2018 04 20
Slouching against the yellow Dead End sign,
while waiting for my daughter on the bus,
I watch black ravens in the Southern Pine
discuss the indifference of the blue sky.
I wave to every stranger who drives by,
who wonder if the old guy with long beard,
who watches them through Blues Brothers sunglasses,
is the spy from the rebellious empire.
Driving Black Mustang Miami to Alaska,
Mona Lisa gives me a ride to Elysium
where we search for the jewel of ancient truth
that shines hidden by splendor in the grass.
My brain is nothing but the radio
receiving transmissions from your weird brains
so I record in verse your true nightmares
that motivate you to head out to work.
I live at the far end of Dead End Road
where Plato talks about Idea forms
how every tree that exists in real matter
projects from changeless concept of The Tree.
All the lost children of America
gather at the Museum on Saturday night
to watch the Judge and the Jester play chess
over who plays Christ on the Crucifix.
When any man plays prophet of the empire
after he plays Hamlet on the London stage
the King in the Golden Mask with no eyes
will crucify him on the telephone pole.
Now that I wrestled Jesus off the throne
and play the harp of David in Our Temple
I throw coins of joy to every lost soul
who gathers to feast in the Hall of Dreams.
Mona Lisa drives to Los Angeles
with skull on her American flag tee-shirt,
singing the Highways Blues in the Waste Land
while listening to Tally Hall on her Eye Phone.
Sunlight on my back yard grass reveals why
no one knows the Queen of America
who dances alone on the field of grass
somewhere between Seattle and Manhattan.
While I sit on the back porch of my home,
drinking white wine labeled The Winking Owl,
I ponder poetics of Monotony
that inspire me to chant Riddles on Death.
Every person I see alive and well
will fall into the Empty Void of Death,
so I kiss Mona Lisa in the flowers
who reincarnates our immortal soul.
After smoking the Flower of Awareness,
Mona Lisa and I gaze up at the stars
that reveal the mystery of the First Flash
that flares forth into the White Whole of Love.
Dropping me off home at my Dead End sign,
Mona Lisa smiles lightning in my heart,
then drives into the vast indifferent sky
while singing vibrant tune of Helium.
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