Advance Guard Spy
© Surazeus
2018 06 29
The alabaster heart of the blind ghost
inserts quick angle of the mirror moon
revealing whatever I lost last year
when I swirl sand-words to invent new tune.
Outside the broken wall of paradise
the advance guard leaves the cathedral ruins
to innovate the language code of lies
jokers tell to trick our minds to eat truth.
The little girl wearing black mask and cape
jumps up and down on the stage of the church
and throws pennies at the mute audience
who wear porcelain masks to hide their faces.
I pack ideals of the future we dream
in flashing cubes of broken cameras
to hide angel wings we are searching for
because no one ever answers the door.
The person with no face or name stands mute
on stage before attentive audience
to express concepts programmed in their brain
combining comedian, prophet, and preacher.
The stoic pioneer drives four-wheeled wagon
west over rolling hills, down along rivers,
to colonize the nameless wilderness
with buildings where people talk to the sky.
The farmer breaks ground in the ancient sod
to plant seeds of pumpkins and apple trees
and versify the meadow while he chants
sad plowing song his grandfather composed.
I breathe in wind of inventive thought spells
to signal phenomenon through persona
how bold Icarus refuses to fly
because he does not want to play our spy.
Advance guard spy who remembers my trick
explains he does not need prizes or fame
to validate quality of his art
since the performance circuit is a game.
I find myself lost in the silent mist
swirling down from the blank eyes of the moon,
midway through my life to the cozy grave
still searching for mountain of paradise.
Performance of the sermon, poem, or joke
excites the audience with secret vision
but when the performer falls in the grave
their words fade into mute splashing rain.
I blaze new trail along the ocean shore
where we play laughing in the surging waves
while the blind ghost chops down the Tree of Life
and buries apples in my rotting heart.
© Surazeus
2018 06 29
The alabaster heart of the blind ghost
inserts quick angle of the mirror moon
revealing whatever I lost last year
when I swirl sand-words to invent new tune.
Outside the broken wall of paradise
the advance guard leaves the cathedral ruins
to innovate the language code of lies
jokers tell to trick our minds to eat truth.
The little girl wearing black mask and cape
jumps up and down on the stage of the church
and throws pennies at the mute audience
who wear porcelain masks to hide their faces.
I pack ideals of the future we dream
in flashing cubes of broken cameras
to hide angel wings we are searching for
because no one ever answers the door.
The person with no face or name stands mute
on stage before attentive audience
to express concepts programmed in their brain
combining comedian, prophet, and preacher.
The stoic pioneer drives four-wheeled wagon
west over rolling hills, down along rivers,
to colonize the nameless wilderness
with buildings where people talk to the sky.
The farmer breaks ground in the ancient sod
to plant seeds of pumpkins and apple trees
and versify the meadow while he chants
sad plowing song his grandfather composed.
I breathe in wind of inventive thought spells
to signal phenomenon through persona
how bold Icarus refuses to fly
because he does not want to play our spy.
Advance guard spy who remembers my trick
explains he does not need prizes or fame
to validate quality of his art
since the performance circuit is a game.
I find myself lost in the silent mist
swirling down from the blank eyes of the moon,
midway through my life to the cozy grave
still searching for mountain of paradise.
Performance of the sermon, poem, or joke
excites the audience with secret vision
but when the performer falls in the grave
their words fade into mute splashing rain.
I blaze new trail along the ocean shore
where we play laughing in the surging waves
while the blind ghost chops down the Tree of Life
and buries apples in my rotting heart.
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