Tuesday, February 13, 2024

Curse Of The White Raven

Curse Of The White Raven
© Surazeus
2024 02 13

Curse of the white raven in the rose bush 
turns on the television in the bar 
so holy warriors watch the soccer game 
to avoid talking about genocide 
through institutional neutrality 
while they consume strawberry root beer floats. 

Gold glow of sunset through winter-bare trees 
contrives strange memory of timeless love 
two people share while baking apple pie 
despite the unexploded bomb of truth 
that lies forgotten in the field of cows 
till second coming of the circus clown. 

The sad peacock in the gas station lot 
waits for the Queen of Heaven to buy chips 
because her daughter ran away from school 
though she likes to photograph the old men 
who play chess all afternoon in the park 
while the blind robot guards the holy book. 

The boy in the metal boat on Blood Lake 
thinks about the girl who dances ballet 
while holding the fishing rod in both hands, 
ready to slay Cetus to save her life 
while in the train station Death plays the flute 
that drives senators mad with lust for war. 

The Swedish girl in the straw cowboy hat 
walks jungle trail where purple flowers bloom 
to ask the chicken on the rusty car 
about ontology of double speak 
while sipping coffee ground from bones of gods 
who dance on pyramid of diamond eyes. 

As mute subjective spectator of objects 
I beam with passion for being in the world 
now here in nowhere of revolving time 
through stark authenticity of desire 
while I question if I am real, and here, 
because with my body I sense pure light. 

Walking across Bridge of Forgetfulness 
with the dead whose names are now silver fish 
that swim beyond infinity of wheels, 
I lie as if dead on library steps 
while the ballet dancer in bloody gown 
reads last poem of the man killed in the war. 

With intimacy of knowledge we drink wine 
while bombs fall onto houses somewhere else 
despite the white butterfly with God Mind 
appointing cosmic herald to preserve 
the sacred right to vote for every soul 
who stares at white raven in the rose bush. 

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