Dare Disturb Your Universe
© Surazeus
2018 06 27
After I relate various incidents
that happened to me on my path of life
I will then conclude my personal tale
with some moral epiphany of truth
that will incapsulate in pithy proverb
this basic cultural value we all share,
that we each feel more important than we are.
The one thing common with all presidents,
tribal god-father of organized strife,
whose basic principles might be for sale,
yet undiscovered by most clever sleuth,
is how their mental powers are suberb,
reflected in perfection of their hair,
and try to read the future in the star.
The chaos inherent in human action
swirls past our eyes in vast network of streets
when millions of people follow their dreams
in swift complicated dance of desire
hidden by yellow fog that rubs its back
on television screens which always glow
with endless stream of breaking news we watch.
You think there will be time to meet the face
of God that shines from monstrous clouds of vapor
shimmering with eternal light of our star
before the taking of the toast and tea,
but when I run for president this year
I will revise your vision of our world
which flashes on computer screens of truth.
The truth you think you know is hidden clear
in words we speak to each other today
is not the truth we dream in spinning night
till we have risen on wings in dawn light
and walk again the road of lusting hope
since all I want is to sit in peace and eat,
and savor aching victory of defeat.
Today I dare disturb your universe
though my cell phone is buzzing in my purse
so I will talk to the ghost of my love
who might exist somewhere on spinning world
while I am talking to the silent air
but if you vote for me as president
I promise to do all the noble things.
You ask me how I got stuck in this maze
and now am nothing more than flame of pain,
but if I thought my story would be told
to everybody living in your world
my writhing soul would speak no words of truth,
but since no one ever returns from Hell
I will speak without fear of infamy.
When the yellow rose of my aching heart
blossoms at the silent gaze of your eyes
I feel tendrils of vines and roots spread deep,
curling into the blood veins of my soul,
so when the tree of life blooms from my brain
you can eat the apples of my mute songs
and dream the sparkle of sunlight in rain.
If you follow this thread of laughing words
deep into winding labyrinth of stories
you will meet every word-born character
who dwells forever in the text of books
because they wait like puppets on the page
till your eyes cause them to spring into life
and they act again on stage of your mind.
I slide inside shiny red pickup truck
and drive along wild California coast,
thinking about the character of death
who wanders in the waste land of despair
and pans for gold in the river of tears
to fund the movie studio of dreams
where pretty girls dance before cameras.
Since giant corporations of Manhattan
supported oppressive regimes of goons
in those poor countries south of Mexico
to exploit natural resources for wealth
millions of people from their jungle valleys
walk the waste land of misery and fear
to pick crops in fields of Onatah.
What future Christ and savior of his people,
taken away from his young weeping mother,
sits now in gold cage of the prison camp,
staring in boundless center of our world,
and sees the heart of darkness in the light
that energizes action of his hands
to lead his people to the Promised Land?
To defy the Christian tyrant of greed
he will grasp the rod of Moses and stand
before the White House in cold pouring rain,
and cry out against heartless policies
that sell his people into slavery,
but they will crucify this Spartacus
on the telephone pole of simple faith.
Since no one ever reads secret reports
which I dispatch from the lost Cave of Plato,
I will reveal key of immortal life
encoded with human experience
that opens glass door to Tomorrowland
where children not yet born play hide and seek
through endless labyrinth of official lies.
Remember now the secret I conceal
in mute silence written between the lines
of our Constitution and Bill of Rights
which translate the proverbs of Solomon
so we can navigate the social games
of kill or be killed, performed on the stage
of religious drama each Christmas Eve.
Just as I thought I could escape the maze
of verified illusions priests invent,
from shadow of the last unbroken door
Foucault emerges with a Rubix Cube
to explain nature of our power structures
which support patriarchal hegemony
because I am statue of Liberty.
When he invites me to Cafe Rotonde
we walk together in faded footsteps
of every famous poet who once lived
to sit at Round Table where candles glow
and deconstruct the meaning of each word
with blind Derrida while sipping red wine
prepared by the hands of war refugees.
I reject that every person in the world
shares common model of knowledge and truth
concealed in structures of language we speak
so let us lay the beast of hungry fear
on the sacred altar of sacrifice
to deconstruct assumptions of our words
by peeling the orange of mental desire.
The tree that grows on the shore of the river
presents in changeless form of its idea
every tree that sprouts from the ground of being
so this tree is that tree, and thus all trees
are contained in the structure of the word,
so when I speak tree you dream every tree
though trees grow and decay in flash of time.
Are you still with me in this dance of dreams
as we project our private consciousness
to think it glows in every pulsing atom
for since I am enclosed inside my head
I feel connected to the universe
to dream the First Flash at the dawn of time
that glows in every atom of my brain.
© Surazeus
2018 06 27
After I relate various incidents
that happened to me on my path of life
I will then conclude my personal tale
with some moral epiphany of truth
that will incapsulate in pithy proverb
this basic cultural value we all share,
that we each feel more important than we are.
The one thing common with all presidents,
tribal god-father of organized strife,
whose basic principles might be for sale,
yet undiscovered by most clever sleuth,
is how their mental powers are suberb,
reflected in perfection of their hair,
and try to read the future in the star.
The chaos inherent in human action
swirls past our eyes in vast network of streets
when millions of people follow their dreams
in swift complicated dance of desire
hidden by yellow fog that rubs its back
on television screens which always glow
with endless stream of breaking news we watch.
You think there will be time to meet the face
of God that shines from monstrous clouds of vapor
shimmering with eternal light of our star
before the taking of the toast and tea,
but when I run for president this year
I will revise your vision of our world
which flashes on computer screens of truth.
The truth you think you know is hidden clear
in words we speak to each other today
is not the truth we dream in spinning night
till we have risen on wings in dawn light
and walk again the road of lusting hope
since all I want is to sit in peace and eat,
and savor aching victory of defeat.
Today I dare disturb your universe
though my cell phone is buzzing in my purse
so I will talk to the ghost of my love
who might exist somewhere on spinning world
while I am talking to the silent air
but if you vote for me as president
I promise to do all the noble things.
You ask me how I got stuck in this maze
and now am nothing more than flame of pain,
but if I thought my story would be told
to everybody living in your world
my writhing soul would speak no words of truth,
but since no one ever returns from Hell
I will speak without fear of infamy.
When the yellow rose of my aching heart
blossoms at the silent gaze of your eyes
I feel tendrils of vines and roots spread deep,
curling into the blood veins of my soul,
so when the tree of life blooms from my brain
you can eat the apples of my mute songs
and dream the sparkle of sunlight in rain.
If you follow this thread of laughing words
deep into winding labyrinth of stories
you will meet every word-born character
who dwells forever in the text of books
because they wait like puppets on the page
till your eyes cause them to spring into life
and they act again on stage of your mind.
I slide inside shiny red pickup truck
and drive along wild California coast,
thinking about the character of death
who wanders in the waste land of despair
and pans for gold in the river of tears
to fund the movie studio of dreams
where pretty girls dance before cameras.
Since giant corporations of Manhattan
supported oppressive regimes of goons
in those poor countries south of Mexico
to exploit natural resources for wealth
millions of people from their jungle valleys
walk the waste land of misery and fear
to pick crops in fields of Onatah.
What future Christ and savior of his people,
taken away from his young weeping mother,
sits now in gold cage of the prison camp,
staring in boundless center of our world,
and sees the heart of darkness in the light
that energizes action of his hands
to lead his people to the Promised Land?
To defy the Christian tyrant of greed
he will grasp the rod of Moses and stand
before the White House in cold pouring rain,
and cry out against heartless policies
that sell his people into slavery,
but they will crucify this Spartacus
on the telephone pole of simple faith.
Since no one ever reads secret reports
which I dispatch from the lost Cave of Plato,
I will reveal key of immortal life
encoded with human experience
that opens glass door to Tomorrowland
where children not yet born play hide and seek
through endless labyrinth of official lies.
Remember now the secret I conceal
in mute silence written between the lines
of our Constitution and Bill of Rights
which translate the proverbs of Solomon
so we can navigate the social games
of kill or be killed, performed on the stage
of religious drama each Christmas Eve.
Just as I thought I could escape the maze
of verified illusions priests invent,
from shadow of the last unbroken door
Foucault emerges with a Rubix Cube
to explain nature of our power structures
which support patriarchal hegemony
because I am statue of Liberty.
When he invites me to Cafe Rotonde
we walk together in faded footsteps
of every famous poet who once lived
to sit at Round Table where candles glow
and deconstruct the meaning of each word
with blind Derrida while sipping red wine
prepared by the hands of war refugees.
I reject that every person in the world
shares common model of knowledge and truth
concealed in structures of language we speak
so let us lay the beast of hungry fear
on the sacred altar of sacrifice
to deconstruct assumptions of our words
by peeling the orange of mental desire.
The tree that grows on the shore of the river
presents in changeless form of its idea
every tree that sprouts from the ground of being
so this tree is that tree, and thus all trees
are contained in the structure of the word,
so when I speak tree you dream every tree
though trees grow and decay in flash of time.
Are you still with me in this dance of dreams
as we project our private consciousness
to think it glows in every pulsing atom
for since I am enclosed inside my head
I feel connected to the universe
to dream the First Flash at the dawn of time
that glows in every atom of my brain.
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