Encoding Of Experience

Encoding Of Experience
© Surazeus
2018 07 26

Poetry is the encoding of experience,
regardless of who composes the text
as long as the characters they present
accurately reflect the real human spirit.

I have been employed as Wizard of Words
at the Bureau of Surrealist Research
since I saw my face in the Lake of Dreams,
walking around Green Lake in Eighty Two.

I saw my Muse in wild electric sky
fly down out of endless Seattle rain
to spark dream of the world inside my eye
so I conduct the glass unicorn train.

While exploring Arcadia of Mount Rainier,
I hesitated at white gushing stream,
till Takoma, goddess of milk-full stars,
sent Heraclitus to show me the way.

I drink refreshing milk of inspiration
that fountains from the breasts of wise Athena
who tells me to storm the citadel of Dada
then fly her rocket ship around the Earth.

The apparition of the plastic masks
of surreal poets in the costume store,
ravens chatting on the telephone line
after I eat mushrooms in purple rain.

Emerging from the purple haze of truth,
I ride the scarlet unicorn of faith
in Cathedral of the Crucified Clown
who crowns me Emperor of Zarahemla.

Now Tristan drives black Mustang on the highway
to meet Ophelia on the river shore
where they drink wine and discuss Surrealism
while composing haiku with blood of wolves.

Wielding pickaxe as the dwarf of Snow White,
Aragon smashes gold star of King Midas
on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at midnight,
breaking the first Horcrux of thirteen forged.

Breton, who died four days after I turned two,
attaches puppet strings to my ten fingers
to type with pure psychic automatism
which generates computer code from dreams.

I program robots with three flashing eyes
to play lyre of Orpheus on the street,
reciting case laws of the Supreme Court
through endless epic poem of human crime.

Emerging from the primal Cave of Shadows,
Plato sits at the potter wheel of time
to craft imitations of eternal Ideas
now preserved in Museum of Phony Art.

I feel the psychic energy field flash
tricks of laughing faces in mirror screens
of television tube where Bacchus wields
rifle of nationalism to rule the world.

My mind sees nothing but splotches of color
till I don Eye Wear that focuses light
so I see Ideas of Plato revealed clear,
sharpened by strict philosophical logic.

Now that I surmount mountain of Parnassus,
I connect dream of ideal paradise
to spark of action from my crafting hands
to construct Temple of Ten Thousand Gods.

Just as I fall in abyss of the flower
Philip follows her to the wavering moon
to bridge arching over valley of clocks
where twelve girls in glass castle sing his face.

Swimming in the milk of the marble tablet,
I find the dancing virgin by the willow
who weaves new computer inside my brain
so I dream the First Flash in every raindrop.

So that is how I found the Mermaid Queen,
Mary Magdalene of the Ivory Tower,
casting shadows in the Cave of Sainte Baume
to show how she arrived on shores of Mars.

Mary weaves her fingers into my eyes
and leads me over thunder bridge of apples
to show me where jewels emanate star souls
which she places pulsing inside my heart.

The eighth incarnation of the Messiah
walks somewhere in streets of America,
sprinkling apple seeds on each parking lot
which will transform Manhattan back to Eden.