Graduate As Superman At Last
© Surazeus
2018 07 26
The screen of the television glows white
as the summer sky after crackling storm
when children like to throw things at each other
because the river knows my secret name.
Her death gouged gaping hole out of my heart
with backhoe of horror tearing thick wires
of secret memories connecting minds
of angels buried on the hill in mud.
These infinite returns to scenes of friendship
pull me backward from this hour of awareness
when I need to know what people might say
to criticize my failures of completion.
The mud of hate seeps in my tattered shoes
when I run in the park just before dawn
to catch elusive butterfly of love
who escapes the glass television eye.
I stop at abandoned store by the tracks
for invisible train of poverty
to look at my face in the cracking glass
but sunlight blurs my features to wet smears.
Will I find dead bodies in these dark woods
that lie nameless in rain two thousand years
till the woman with three eyes is declared
holy messiah for our new religion?
She wants to know where I plan to go next,
so I tell her Museum of Modern Art
where paintings of me hang on the blank walls
because no one remembers my true face.
They want to know my real gender and race
but I flow between polarities of being
in constant fluctuation of desire
to become the whole universal soul.
I know what you perceive from hour to hour
in calculating curves of the wild flower
because my own brain functions the same way
to measure psychic space and not to pray.
I have no real persona you can seek
for I removed the mask of social types
to, fast as laughter, evade your assumptions
about how we played carefree games as children.
I am wiser than your mom seems to think
because your loving tears are all I drink
when I express desire to join the team
mapping memories of man from the first stream.
I wear the face you threw away last year
so I am now the you you want to be
because I understand well how you are,
reflected in the mirror of my soul.
This is the treasure I must give away,
the book of ancient tales on long-dead heroes
that no one cares to read beyond the scene
where he is crucified to save your souls.
I had other treasures also kept safe
from relentless decay of surging time
but someone stole them from my open hand
while I was sleeping in the Tree of Life.
The flashing satellite of hopeful years
flies far away into the sky of tears
to photograph the tides of human waves
from refugees of brutal wars who sing.
When the river forgot my secret name,
and left me stranded on the nameless shore,
I gazed into the skull my father wore
to understand the weird rules of his game.
Her death still empties out my gushing heart
to split the holy sky in naked wonder
when angels sing alone on vaudeville stage
sweet hymns enchanting hungry minds with love.
So that is why I walked away from home
and stood on street corners in nameless cities
to sing strange visions flashing through my eyes
while strumming vibrant strings of Hermean lyre.
I had to chase the shadow of despair
and find out where the mindless sun was born
so, when its stark indifferent rays of light
pierce my heart, I will remember your name.
Beyond the pleasure principle of love
I dance on the bridge over deep abyss
to overcome the weakness of my flesh
and graduate as Superman at last.
Where children walk the desert sand at night
to follow twinkling star of Peter Pan,
blind men with guns arrest their desperate flight
and lock them in the cage of fascist state.
Children taken from their parents still sit
inside the cage of white nationalist fear,
and play chess with Death to win Liberty
so they can pick tomatoes on my farm.
© Surazeus
2018 07 26
The screen of the television glows white
as the summer sky after crackling storm
when children like to throw things at each other
because the river knows my secret name.
Her death gouged gaping hole out of my heart
with backhoe of horror tearing thick wires
of secret memories connecting minds
of angels buried on the hill in mud.
These infinite returns to scenes of friendship
pull me backward from this hour of awareness
when I need to know what people might say
to criticize my failures of completion.
The mud of hate seeps in my tattered shoes
when I run in the park just before dawn
to catch elusive butterfly of love
who escapes the glass television eye.
I stop at abandoned store by the tracks
for invisible train of poverty
to look at my face in the cracking glass
but sunlight blurs my features to wet smears.
Will I find dead bodies in these dark woods
that lie nameless in rain two thousand years
till the woman with three eyes is declared
holy messiah for our new religion?
She wants to know where I plan to go next,
so I tell her Museum of Modern Art
where paintings of me hang on the blank walls
because no one remembers my true face.
They want to know my real gender and race
but I flow between polarities of being
in constant fluctuation of desire
to become the whole universal soul.
I know what you perceive from hour to hour
in calculating curves of the wild flower
because my own brain functions the same way
to measure psychic space and not to pray.
I have no real persona you can seek
for I removed the mask of social types
to, fast as laughter, evade your assumptions
about how we played carefree games as children.
I am wiser than your mom seems to think
because your loving tears are all I drink
when I express desire to join the team
mapping memories of man from the first stream.
I wear the face you threw away last year
so I am now the you you want to be
because I understand well how you are,
reflected in the mirror of my soul.
This is the treasure I must give away,
the book of ancient tales on long-dead heroes
that no one cares to read beyond the scene
where he is crucified to save your souls.
I had other treasures also kept safe
from relentless decay of surging time
but someone stole them from my open hand
while I was sleeping in the Tree of Life.
The flashing satellite of hopeful years
flies far away into the sky of tears
to photograph the tides of human waves
from refugees of brutal wars who sing.
When the river forgot my secret name,
and left me stranded on the nameless shore,
I gazed into the skull my father wore
to understand the weird rules of his game.
Her death still empties out my gushing heart
to split the holy sky in naked wonder
when angels sing alone on vaudeville stage
sweet hymns enchanting hungry minds with love.
So that is why I walked away from home
and stood on street corners in nameless cities
to sing strange visions flashing through my eyes
while strumming vibrant strings of Hermean lyre.
I had to chase the shadow of despair
and find out where the mindless sun was born
so, when its stark indifferent rays of light
pierce my heart, I will remember your name.
Beyond the pleasure principle of love
I dance on the bridge over deep abyss
to overcome the weakness of my flesh
and graduate as Superman at last.
Where children walk the desert sand at night
to follow twinkling star of Peter Pan,
blind men with guns arrest their desperate flight
and lock them in the cage of fascist state.
Children taken from their parents still sit
inside the cage of white nationalist fear,
and play chess with Death to win Liberty
so they can pick tomatoes on my farm.
No comments:
Post a Comment