Corpse Of Your Dead God

Corpse Of Your Dead God
© Surazeus
2026 01 22

When I am finished eating all the stars 
after running through valley of the dead, 
I will carry huge corpse of your dead god 
on my back to open love-broken doors, 
then suavely stroll across the writhing bridge 
till I arrive at the ultimate edge. 

Sufficient compensation as reward 
for cleaning rotten garbage from the church 
will never resupply my bank account 
while butchered cow of god hangs from the cord 
on which depends joke of the destitute 
with aggressive faith for the absolute. 

When I grow youthful with the turning globe 
that spirals over pyramid of fruit 
I play cowled role of the scythe-swinging ghost 
who beckons you to join judgmental probe, 
qualified by blind devil of the lake 
to advocate for the fruit-stealing snake. 

Though jauntily unbowed by social crash 
our old world order suffers this strange hour, 
I seek the star-eyed Sibyl in Dream Tower 
to learn calculus of puzzling potash 
which fertilizes fields of theology 
through prophecies based on psychology. 

With constellated powers of the brain 
I trick aggressive tyrants of empires 
to fund operations of psychic choirs 
through preposterous scam of cloistered coins 
exchanged by proud ghosts of the stock exchange 
who read auguries of the crumbling range. 

We sell our failures to the sports goods store 
with brave ambition of scared puppeteers 
who hang enemy skulls on chandeliers 
despite bad dreams that shake our mental core 
before we take tea on long afternoons 
to avoid explosions of graveyard moons. 

We plant trees we never sit under now 
to construct kites from insecurities 
because no one gives up their liberties 
till Jesus returns on the holy cow 
which never happens, even to this day, 
since none escape catatonic decay. 

Through attentive parlay of energy 
we present our bodies as tragic art 
by understanding how we got our start 
evolving fish to god with panurgy 
so we can build new order of the world 
based on dream design of the cosmic herald.