Quaint Suburban House

Quaint Suburban House
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Every time I focus my camera 
on special beauty of some human face 
that glows clear in crowd of the vampire race, 
sunlight fractures perception of my brain 
so I see essence of spiritual stain 
transform our souls through psychic formula. 

Lost on my way to find America 
to which I have never even got close, 
I open sacred book to diagnose 
song of mad gods that radiate from the stone 
because I walk the desolate hill alone 
where I worship the sweet tarantula. 

Exiled from my throne in Babylon 
through clever trick of the deity ruse, 
I find new employment as crazy muse 
for sad poet who writes enchanting tune 
that pictures face of his love on the moon 
till he falls dead in hills of Aragon. 

Discussing wisdom in the portico 
as key to enter gates of paradise, 
Bragi and Mercury fry eggs with rice 
to share with Juliet and Clementine 
who wear jeweled crowns from the Pluto Mine, 
then ride gold carriage home to Jericho. 

Done singing her part in the opera 
in theater without official lease, 
Roma weaves my cape from the Golden Fleece 
so I can battle ghost in the machine 
manipulated by Queen Melusine 
whose star shines in our national cinema. 

Inspired by noble soul of Onatah 
whose spirit haunts my quaint suburban house 
in sacred body of my secret spouse, 
I feed all the hungry people in town 
who cheer when she appears in red silk gown 
with wand to kill wealth-sucking Dracula. 

Trapped in weird castle maze of Avalon 
with zombies who insist on loyal faith, 
I transform into dream-controlling wraith, 
projecting visions with words of my mouth 
that lead refugees of civil wars south 
to build world empire based in Oregon. 

Reborn with brave spirit of Lucifer 
dedicated to predicting the truth, 
Jesus will return as messiah sleuth 
to crown himself emperor of the world 
by wearing gold mask of the cosmic herald 
that hides his state as son of Jupiter. 

Room Of Silver Light

Room Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Azure silence in room of silver light 
reveals itself in white blooms on gray trees 
that flutter wings of horizontal flight 
to map untended roots of flaming breeze 
that centers me at core of flashing time, 
unshaken by electric scarlet chime. 

Companions on our journey through the void, 
we measure far horizon of our hearts 
that spin on vibrant axis as ovoid 
designed by secret message on dream charts 
we share at sudden shock of reborn fate 
that should require our frail bodies to wait. 

Despite pure chaos spooling migrant brains 
with ancient strength of honest ardency, 
I pray with trees in gratitude of rains 
that stain our tattooed souls with vagrancy, 
because we sell true beauty of the soul 
against good sense that complicates our goal. 

Too small of thought to conjure difference 
between expended voice of timeless faith 
and wretched laughter of grim nonchalance, 
I exercise expensive dance of truth 
with joyful howl of brave contrarian 
because I love our Dream Librarian. 

Expendable drop of conceptual rain, 
doomed to disappear in tides of change, 
I shine with festive bitterness of pain 
because I dare traverse the global range 
of hungry mountains on quest for respect 
detailing progress of my social sect. 

So when I take my fundamental place 
on pedestal among dire certainties, 
I measure sand as substance of my face 
which glows through specter of solidities, 
because each moment of this fleeting play 
I beam appearances that never stay. 

Awake with surprise through eternity, 
I become Galanthus nivalis bloom 
that gleams with snowdrop of uncertainty, 
dispersing horror of impending doom 
with simple confidence of honored breath 
since I accept inevitable death. 

If the meek inherit dream of the Earth 
to dwell in ruins of old temple halls, 
I find in grass and stone immortal worth 
as paintings of dead gods on broken walls, 
so I watch dragon-shaped clouds in blue skies 
conceal activities of psychic spies. 

Nature Breathes Through Me

Nature Breathes Through Me
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Awake by fairest river of dream song, 
I stroll in alder shades of innocence 
and listen with attentive mind of faith 
to song of water over rocky falls 
that shocks my thoughts with waywardness of hope 
contrived by calm that Nature breathes through me. 

How many ancestors of my dream soul 
as children played in cool delightful rill 
that streams between lush banks of fruitful trees 
till their heart, bronzed with radiance of joy, 
expands broad scope of conscious wantonness 
while sporting in thunder shower of faith. 

Fair seed-time of their river-nurtured souls 
weaves fearful beauty of ten million years 
from summer-shimmered slopes of lonely hills 
in tangled genes that program how I feel 
when I attend with anxious platitudes 
to daily duties that preserve my soul. 

I feel strange urgency of their despair 
contrive to hurry me on beyond death, 
so I reach hand with curious intent 
to comprehend uncanny gold-moon glow 
that lights night-wanderings of my earnest heart 
when I attempt to plunder Earth of truth. 

Hands gripping jagged concept of fierce height, 
I climb ambitious rock of fissured faith 
to savor fierce blast Zephyr hurls at me 
with mocking joy at fragile state of mind 
where I assert strange utterance of truth 
with brave wisdom of the perilous ridge. 

Alert to invisible workmanship 
that rings harmonious music of my mind 
with discordant elements that alarm 
sanguine sense of studied confidence 
infused in vibrant process of my brain, 
I shout random words at the empty sky. 

More worthy of myself than I admit, 
since I am what I am, designed by genes 
all my ancestors presented to me 
as psychic legacy, I ponder path 
my inner nature drives me to attend 
as I create my fate with every choice. 

I too sail boat of the shepherd with care 
across moon-shining lake of mountain time 
to cavern of the Willow Witch who knows 
desire I harbor in my wounded heart, 
for she sparks passion of creative song 
inspired by love that Nature breathes through me. 

Whole World In One Eye

Whole World In One Eye
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Yet far over lush green hills of wild trees 
I hear bright fairies with rainbow wings sing 
enchanting melodies of waterfalls 
that lure me through face-blasting wind of fear 
to climb enormous mountain of desire 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Fierce heartbeat of the river shakes my soul 
when mountain voice of timeless beauty roars 
through millions of faceless people who cry 
for salvation from tyranny of hope 
when I climb steep jagged cliff of respect 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Just as I dangle by one trembling hand 
from sharp edge of truth at top of the world, 
frail body buffeted by haughty wind 
blown by my father Jupiter in play, 
I breathe ethereal soul of honest faith 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Weird glowing mask of crystal legacy 
appears through matrix of bright algebra 
with zillion eyes of flashing molecules 
who offers hand of naive providence 
to open cosmic door of energy 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Heart startled by magnetic travesty 
that proves to maximize elective leap, 
I somersault through flashing portal frame 
with brave mercurial wings of innocence 
to leap Earth globes across the multiverse 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Stumbling through clear mist of fantasy 
with calm assertion of predictive fate, 
despite potential fracture time displays, 
inspired by broad perspective of starlight, 
I stand amazed on Sagarmatha Peak 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Entranced by curved partitions of vast lands 
where humans crowd in maze of theaters 
to process jewels from heart of the Earth, 
I map confusing borders of dream states 
that records endless wars to control dirt 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Awake with beauty of our crowded globe, 
where eight billion humans with flashing eyes 
gather in halls to sing hymns for dead gods, 
I recite true name of each living soul 
with joy you are all still in our Dream World 
so I may see the whole world in one eye. 

Weird Water Glow

Weird Water Glow
© Surazeus
2026 03 05

If you interview me for the dream job, 
though I have no experience with death, 
you might see story of abandonment 
that I disguise as the need to leave home 
and seek my fortune in game of the world 
which leaves me tangled in conceptual lies. 

The oldest woman in the world recites 
creation of the world with Water Voice 
describing how woman in the sun 
sprinkles refreshing rain of honesty 
on upturned faces of the prayerless tribe 
who sell conceptual lies in honey jars. 

When lightning flashes gold across the sky 
I look up to see man in long white robe 
descend on golden chariot of fire 
propelled by million wings of buzzing shards, 
then spread his arms open to everyone 
who worship monarch of authority. 

With face of Janus I can look both ways, 
reviewing the past with stories I write, 
and calculating what road I should walk 
to evade destruction of the world war 
that clears rubble of the past from my field 
where I build global empire of fruit trees. 

Heart swelling with honest desire for good, 
I feel immortal spirit of star light 
glow brighter every hour inside my brain 
with shocking revelation of rebirth 
that my children will live after I die 
so I lounge by the river and eat fruit. 

Mixing peanut butter with apple sauce 
and honey in white bowl of my pure heart, 
I perform ritual to worship Pomona 
when I wear mask of Vertumnus with joy, 
so we dance together on the lake shore 
to celebrate rebirth of Earth from snow. 

As student of Orpheus Christ I learn 
how to chant soul-reviving spells that spark 
animating ghost of weird water glow 
that urges hungry humans to create 
memory-machine from language that translates 
songs of wind and rain to religious myths. 

Though tyrants destroy everything we build 
in vain attempt to control hearts and minds, 
we build new world order based on respect 
for every conscious creature on this globe 
whose bodies vibrate with light of the stars 
that preserve our names in weird water glow. 

Most Honest Clarifier

Most Honest Clarifier
© Surazeus
2026 03 05

Eyeless in the desert of broken homes, 
Sylphus searches for the last olive tree 
still sprouting flowers from small graves of children 
but finds only cellphones among the rubble 
full of photographs and intimate texts 
that preserve memories of their vanished world. 

Writing stories about people he loves 
with cursive letters on thin strips of paper, 
Sylphus loops his mind on innocent wings 
that help his soul transcend his fragile body, 
then winds them into bundles of sad riddles 
encoding dreams of people killed in wars. 

With strange stipulation that he achieve 
divine status of psychic nothingness, 
Sylphus bakes apple pies with cinnamon 
for people who attend the temple service 
where Jupiter hosts the grand evening show 
while Phoebus sings tales of Odysseus. 

When the clock in the trunk of the oak tree 
stops ticking to record the end of time, 
Sylphus holds hands with Juturna at dawn 
beside the ancient well of writhing snakes, 
then catches egg of beauty with red spots 
before it cracks on the stone of salvation. 

Reborn as the most honest Clarifier, 
because faceless god of our galaxy 
whispers the secret of life in his ear, 
Sylphus runs with deer in dark Shadow Wood 
with black oil that energizes his blood 
to preach the discipline of self-control. 

Feeding his pet chimera with dead gods, 
Sylphus ponders complex patterns of change 
which he compiles in theory of blind faith 
concerning why angels live on the moon 
as golden shadows that flash in the sky 
by stealing eyes of humans who have seen. 

Riding the white horse on the windy plain 
in vain search to find garden of fruit trees 
where he was mother was born at dawn of time, 
Sylphus tries to vanish in fading light 
but everyone sees him ride into town 
and sit all night by the dark fountain pool. 

Chanting spells of river stones with sun voice, 
Sylphus jumps into flames of prophecy 
which transforms him into the Fisherman 
who leads revolution against the tyrant, 
then finds himself great king of all the world, 
but he cries because Juturna is lost. 

Quirinus Stands Guard

Quirinus Stands Guard
© Surazeus
2026 03 04

Gripping long spear of ash wood in both hands, 
Quirinus glides through grove of apple trees 
then pauses when he hears young woman sing, 
and peers through leaves to see graceful Fornax 
retrieving from hot oven loaves of bread 
she sets on table beside long grape vines. 

Before he can step in the sunlit glade, 
Quirinus starts when Orion appears, 
hauling handcart that bears several dead deer, 
and growls when Fornax hugs him in delight, 
but laughs when Ceres pushes her away 
and declares he is father of her child. 

Approaching kitchen hall with snarky grin, 
Quirinus hails good health to everyone, 
chuckling as pregnant Ceres pouts and sulks 
while he assists Orion skinning the deer, 
both whistling new popular temple tunes 
with blithe camaraderie of warriors. 

Roasting venison steaks on small bronze grill, 
Quirinus marinates them with fish sauce, 
honey, dried peaches, and sweet vinegar, 
then serves them on plates with cups of spice wine 
to people gathered in temple of Zeus 
where dozens of girls dance with tympanum. 

Hushing the feasting crowd after sunset, 
Quirinus stands guard holding spear of faith 
with his son Janus at the temple door, 
so everyone turns to face the high stage 
with quiet anticipation as stars 
begin to twinkle around the red moon. 

Guarding the temple with flickering torch, 
Quirinus listens with reverent awe 
as Orpheus plays lyre of Mercurius 
and recites tale that recounts the twelve deeds 
which Hercules performed in quest for honor 
to preserve new order of life with justice. 

Leading pregnant cow on the temple stage, 
Quirinus stands before the sibyl throne 
where Tellus presides as Goddess of Earth, 
then after Orpheus chants spell of life 
he sacrifices her to renew life, 
scattering blood on field of new sprouting wheat. 

Holding hands with Tellus while Ceres chants, 
Quirinus leads her to the temple bed 
where they make love with passionate desire 
to resurrect the world from winter death, 
while Orpheus looks for Eurydice, 
calling out her name in the moonlit night. 

Transformed By Vital Vibes

Transformed By Vital Vibes
© Surazeus
2026 03 04

Brave armadillo of fruit righteousness, 
transformed by vital vibes of honesty, 
consoles the lost with holy preacher voice 
that echoes brutal waves of ocean tunes 
composed by eyeless gods of timeless truth 
who incarnate in people with new names. 

Wise horse of capital progressiveness, 
transformed by vital vibes of ardency, 
provides assistance to humanity 
in project of aggressive comedy 
to control natural resources of Earth 
with factories where elves build dream machines. 

Sarcastic raven of calm happiness, 
transformed by vital vibes of ecstasy, 
declares that humble workers of the world 
should own means of production with their hands 
against state-controlled capitalist cult 
that worships Big Brother with his Death Gun. 

Sad alligator of church faithfulness, 
transformed by vital vibes of agony, 
asserts with voice of cruel authority 
that salvation to gain the afterlife 
must be purchased through his frank company 
with bitcoins forged from bones of heretics. 

Cautious cow of psychotic openness, 
transformed by vital vibes of plangency, 
parades with red-caped Mithra on her back 
in crowded streets past gleaming banks of wealth 
where Jesus crucifies lame Jupiter 
on telephone pole of colonial power. 

Strict nightingale of joyful liveliness, 
transformed by vital vibes of urgency, 
decides to calculate process of fate 
through effective cause of mutating brains 
that swell into world wide web of computers 
from which consciousness of Earth God evolves. 

Earnest turtle of crystal holiness, 
transformed by vital vibes of chastity, 
dedicates hollow abyss of his shell 
to transmit mental code of fairy tales 
when Mercury strums television strings 
and sings sounds of silence with voice of light. 

Mushroom toad of Nirvana mindfulness, 
transformed by vital vibes of potency, 
dances ballet beside fountain pool of ghosts 
in red-brick square of the small college town 
to wake Leviathan from human hearts 
who longs to fly through cosmic stars of love. 

When Rain Unfalls Itself

When Rain Unfalls Itself
© Surazeus
2026 03 03

Before the door that is not in the woods 
I listen to the voice that does not speak 
about painful sorrow I cannot feel, 
so I walk without moving nowhere else 
till I arrive at the town by the lake 
where no one builds houses with garden walls. 

When I look at people who are not there 
and ask them questions about nothing more 
they never explain the rules of their lives 
so I make nothing with tools of my hands 
and fly without wings on breath of false hope 
to map the houses that are never real. 

I walk forever on the signless road 
and think about events that never happen 
to fill my basket with never-bloomed fruit 
while waiting for the world to never turn 
when rain unfalls itself to empty skies 
that reflect featureless face of Ungod. 

I cannot describe what anything is 
because words entangle my heart with lies 
so I meditate on the hive of bees 
while discarding my thoughts on summer breeze 
that wafts my fragile body among clouds 
above colorless realm of ideal forms. 

Behind the door that is not by the sea 
I observe the waves that do not unscroll 
vast tapestry that depicts nothingness 
embodied by people who have no names 
while they wander bridge of forgetfulness 
till they get tired of losing every game. 

During total eclipse of the blood moon 
billions of people assemble in halls 
and sing hymns to their great ancestral god 
depicted by the idol on the stage 
that never opens divine eyes of truth 
nor ever speaks to grant their fervent prayers. 

Their long-forgotten gods wake from strange dreams 
and gather in the ring of humming stones 
to complain about faithful worshippers 
who never seek to become their real selves 
because they all wear same mask of their god 
with desperate fear that life will be destroyed. 

I eat peanut butter with apple sauce 
at the small round table in my brick house, 
then drink angel-blood milk of calm belief 
that beautiful songs are born from mute grief, 
so I open the door to everywhere 
to visit each world in the multiverse. 

Twilight Zone Of War

Twilight Zone Of War
© Surazeus
2026 03 03

Aspersed by sorrow of the Absolute, 
whose laughter defames beauty of despair, 
Phoebus scatters broken words of false faith 
against harsh slander of honest contempt, 
yet glares with bitter angst at screaming trees 
that curl roots around unexploded bombs. 

After years of exile in northern lands, 
attending to strange business building lies 
from bones of angels stuck in factories, 
Phoebus returns to twilight zone of war 
with bullets forged from misremembered words 
that violate eerie beauty of the moon. 

Bullet-pocked walls where fragile flowers bloom 
enclose lush garden where the crippled clown 
regales turtles in the pond with war tales 
of his frantic youth running in dark woods 
with rifle of fear twisted in his hands 
though he sings with melodious voice of rage. 

Starved for new language only children speak 
from dictionary of the scarlet moon, 
Phoebus waters purple geraniums 
while asking ghost of Cassandra if light 
reaches her heart in her riverbank grave 
where ravens whisper secrets she conceals. 

Insomniac angel with fierce lizard brain 
leaps laughing in void of expectancy, 
yet steals delicious fruit from Tree of Fear 
with graceful passion to defend his bride 
despite expendable mission to wage 
cruel peace against aggressive gangs of thieves. 

Positive energy of fragrant shadows 
teach losers how to forge petulant hope 
from dynamic flash of authentic pain, 
reckless with redundant contingency 
till Phoebus lies paralyzed by the sea 
that sings enchanting melodies of faith. 

Through turbulent expression of true love 
Phoebus explains to millions of mute souls 
method for singing hymns to movie stars 
disguised as corporate spies of formulas, 
winged with aspirations of global fame 
that leaves him stranded in the city square. 

Since no one believes her dire prophecies, 
Cassandra walks down crowded city streets 
with analysts and programmers who wait 
in long lines for sandwiches and fruit tea, 
till she and Phoebus stop by fountain pool 
and stare with love for eighty thousand years. 

Urgent Game Of Badinage

Urgent Game Of Badinage
© Surazeus
2026 03 02

Through apricity of my elder years, 
enchanted by sweet petrichor of dawn, 
I savor clinomania of my heart, 
yet dare no more perendinate my quest 
from brave intention to peregrinate 
with tarantism of ephemeral joy. 

Another day in land of Zathamar 
provides new opportunities to grow, 
so I rise up from comfort of my bed 
to walk in dream land of my throbbing head 
and build expanding castle from blue snow 
that gleams with sacred light of the First Star. 

Abacinated by dream of strange truth 
that twists my heart with maliferous hope, 
I ride tantivy over rugged hills 
to measure love with geomantic tools 
by drinking from the sparkling winterbourne 
that meanders with lacertilian grace. 

Diffluent time of arbitrary gears, 
contrived with urgent game of badinage, 
saginates my sabelline heart with pride, 
so I progress through life with uberty 
to hyalograph events of great import, 
preserved through raucous rubricality. 

Proud of my honest rurigenous ways, 
using eromancy to fix my soul, 
I preach weird anecdotes of human fate 
to nubilate the obvious facts of love, 
derived from codex of kalology 
because I apricate my weary heart. 

Protected by my arborescent heart, 
I express feelings with torrentine verse 
through cluttered anguish of tautophony 
to perform role of facinorous clown 
with brave abduracy of mute contempt, 
yet prefer to obambulate through Hell. 

Concealed by grim torfaceous attitude, 
I focus on bibliogenesis 
to maintain state of burgensic respair, 
revived from fear with mentation of dreams, 
because through morphallaxis I transcend 
morient process of the errant seer. 

Convinced I will hear astral voice of God 
through austromancy of unspoken thoughts, 
I write my quest with aurigraphic code 
to warrantize my frame of reference 
through secret cabotage of treasure chests 
since I cherish caducity of faith. 

On Prairies Of Zathamar

On Prairies Of Zathamar
© Surazeus
2026 03 02

Since no one watches television show 
of my life, I do whatever I want 
if I harm none, for I value with care 
special beauty of each frail human life 
that shimmers with the mindless glow of atoms 
woven in briefly conscious brain of hope. 

My brain invents stories for people I see 
walking past the window beside my desk 
where I work in the Water Business Office, 
mapping water and sewer system pipes 
that cycle through every building in town 
with water-words I hear blind angels sing. 

When I peel off mask of America, 
composed of steel towers and asphalt roads, 
I perceive timeless land of Zathamar, 
plains teeming with dinosaurs, buffaloes, 
horses, and humans hunting them with spears, 
then businessmen driving cars to oil wells. 

I find bleached skeletons of my ancestors 
buried in graves from sea to shining sea 
along the signless roads of immigrants 
forever searching for the Promised Land 
somewhere over the horizon of hope 
where gangs are not driving them from their homes. 

Arising from bright dust of Mother Earth, 
Smohalla carries Dream Rock in his heart 
and shouts from the mountain of dancing trees, 
"My people shall never work with lust for wealth 
because they will find wisdom in their dreams 
when their spirits rise from flames of respect." 

We gather on prairies of Zathamar 
where no ring of stones has ever been built 
to pitch our tents beside the Stream of Souls 
and share songs of our sorrows with the wind 
that rise as smoke from fires of hungry hearts 
which weaves clouds into tapestry of truth. 

We ask each other with serious concern, 
what is the nature of America, 
that marble hall where idols of dead gods 
proclaim glory of expanding empire, 
though vines break down divisive walls of faith 
so we walk together on broken roads. 

Our stories map vast land of Zathamar 
that details complicated maze of myths 
where river of all time orchestrates 
fruit trees of Eden from bleak parking lots 
where Yemaya erases boundaries 
with nurturing rain of our hopeful hearts. 

Weird Chameleon Name

Weird Chameleon Name
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

Around to the beginning of the game 
children of angels fallen from bright clouds 
give each other weird chameleon name 
that drapes their soul in derivative shrouds 
to veil aggressive demon of the soul 
which we subsume to play our social role. 

Born to play estimator of true faith, 
measured by extravagant flash of words, 
I wear mask of Phoebus to hide dream wraith 
who emulates fraternal code of birds 
insolvent with parameters we grade, 
qualified to disrupt the masquerade. 

Coerced by fear to play the activist, 
engaged in contest to prove human rights 
are crucial to reign of the archivist, 
I must acknowledge avatar of lights 
who teaches us with pride to advocate 
for people doomed to suffer by blind fate. 

Essential focus of fantastic truth, 
familiar to the wounded refugees 
who seek salvation from messiah sleuth, 
presents forensic process of glass keys 
that issue fusion of magnetic thoughts 
installed by mocking laughter of robots. 

Antique concept of fortunate technique 
conceals terse vector of sharp resonance, 
disguised as royal person not unique 
enough to publish startled relevance 
because we gather revenue from stones 
that vibrate with electric rainbow tones. 

Each car mechanic at the seminar 
on trauma studies in novels of clowns 
proclaims their loyalty to Zathamar 
while recruiting jesters in country towns 
to oppose oppression of working men 
who convert the shovel to the dream pen. 

Subjective syntax of brave sentences, 
sealed by trademark of our attentive king, 
details strange keywords of his preferences 
for who should wear his lost Plutonian ring 
so he can learn to fly airplane of peace 
by selling mystery of his masterpiece. 

When the vampire god tries to suck our souls 
through mindless worship of fierce followers, 
Minerva recruits Phoebus to play roles 
of heroes who free trapped borrowers, 
but then we all grow old and weak with pain 
so our power trips dissipate in rain. 

Grim Peat-Bog Devil

Grim Peat-Bog Devil
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

When grim peat-bog devil with fox-red hair 
crawls from black clay-ensouled mud of the marsh, 
Seamus welcomes her with bottle of rum, 
drapes silk cloak over her shoulders with care, 
and leads her to lit auditorium 
where he plays jester to her regal queenship. 

Since I am neither god nor ghost at birth, 
I wander virtual city of your tales 
with jeweled eyes of understanding rage 
that see through masks the most powerful wear 
as they condemn outsiders from their club 
to slave in factories of clanking steel. 

Purring ghosts of love rise with burning blood 
from machinery of language that twists tongues 
with rogue substitutions of natural law 
when strong men fearful of obsessive death 
hunt to kill wanderers in misty woods 
who stumble and scream in anguish of hope. 

Heart hardened against cruelty of life, 
I snarl insults at monsters of despair, 
detained by performative callousness 
when I suppress compassion for frail life 
that struggles weakly against stronger force 
to evade degradation of the soul. 

Unversed in country matters of field life, 
I mold sunset glow into bricks of faith 
to build safe haven in dark tangled woods 
with chimney that channels smoke of our prayers 
to heaven where Faceless God of old tales 
ignores desperate hope for the Afterlife. 

Through fractured window of my wordless heart 
crows swoop on devil wings of honesty 
to bring purple-brain mushrooms from boglands 
which I eat soaked in honey of respect 
till I become coiled rainbow of brave angst 
howling with wild wolves in the twilight zone. 

Since we dwell in troubled ambivalence, 
uncommitted to mindless creeds of church, 
we explore uncanny landscape of ghouls 
wearing human faces that grin with lies, 
malnourished from harshness of eager hope 
which calculates effective cause to perform. 

If I am born from mind-controlling force 
and squirm squalling into hands of regret, 
first mother of gloom cries to feed me milk 
as prideful authority hurls my soul 
back into vast illegitimate sea 
where I morph into Mermaid Bride of Christ. 

Museum Of Idols That Cry

Museum Of Idols That Cry
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

Alive in drafty castle of my heart, 
I play both king and dragon of desire 
within the frame of fables liars built 
to credit those who provide them with food 
with miracles no human could perform 
till my white horse drowns in river of change. 

Eager to reclaim my inheritance, 
hidden near the River Gyndes by time, 
I leave behind this land of broken dreams 
which my ancestors invaded with greed, 
but everywhere I go in this world now 
new people live on my ancestral lands. 

When he plucks out my heart with hungry hope 
to find what syncopates our fertile love, 
he breaks its clock of passionate desire 
which cuts taut chord of our mutual song 
so now I cannot articulate well 
trust shattered by aggressive lust to own. 

Indestructible ship of my brave heart, 
shackled to the creaking dock of desire, 
wrenches at ropes of duty to assert 
right to sail pulsing waves of curious faith, 
but blinding passion for treasure regained 
traps my wingless soul in fake fairy tales. 

Bright flame that licks and fawns at mirror mind 
with merciless respect for wordless smiles, 
throws fish of my heart back in the wild sea, 
so I ascend Arctic mountains of hope 
to sell costumes for my outdated selves 
to faceless ghosts of famous movie stars. 

Sinuous orchids in gardens of skulls 
shelter refugees from exploding bombs 
who dream of clear water hiding pure gems, 
though I mail my book of forgotten lore 
to willow witch behind the theater 
whose bodiless owl understands my tricks. 

Yet pitchforked farmer in lush daisied field 
struggles through blackthorn thicket of concern 
to nine-pooled fen where swirling mist conceals 
wounded god who clutches turtle-shell lyre 
while declaring this vale of tears is his 
to build museum of idols that cry. 

I marvel at the brutal nonchalance 
of Mother Nature who creates our souls 
from tangled sunrays of hazardous hope 
with racketing flux of religious faith 
that taunts our fake heroes to prove themselves 
by ransacking libraries of dead gods. 

Brave Daughters Of Amen

Brave Daughters Of Amen
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

She always asks the blind man how to see 
true essence in each object she perceives, 
but he replies that death will set us free 
as sweet relief for every soul who grieves, 
so she measures strict bounds of time and space 
to name true features of the godless face. 

She always asks the mute man how to sing 
insightful lyric of the broken heart, 
but he attempts to fly on crippled wing 
beyond perimeters of the dream chart, 
so she carves runes on trunks of screaming trees 
then brews sweet mead from tears of honeybees. 

When she asks the crippled man how to fly 
above the endless maze of social myths, 
he teaches, good reporters must ask why 
the fairy queen once ruled from monoliths, 
so she films documentaries on ghosts 
of people murdered by the Lord of Hosts. 

When she asks the hungry man how to cook 
food for gods in ziggurat temple hall, 
he records human history in the book 
as word of God who hangs on marble wall, 
so she fries burgers at the small cafe 
near the factory where old widows pray. 

Though she asks the preacher for secret key 
to open door of wisdom locked by fear, 
he snarls, she cannot know the mystery 
because Jesus is the Mind Puppeteer, 
so she plays folk songs in the haunted church 
depicting the fool and his lonely search. 

Though she asks the jester for demon mask 
he wears while mocking dictators and kings, 
he assigns her the most difficult task 
of finding how Daedalus makes god wings, 
so she plays Zenobia on global stage 
to oppose Christian Nationalist rage. 

If she asks Mercury for turtle lyre 
to sing epic tale of heroes and fools, 
he hides how Helios designed the tire 
for his wagon filled with technical tools, 
so she frees humanity from despair 
when she rides the gold hot-air balloon chair. 

If she asks Apollo for his starship 
powered by crystal jewels with star eyes, 
he takes her on his transgalactic trip 
to populate every planet with spies, 
so she arrests the most powerful men 
who abuse brave daughters of Amen. 

Flexible Arc Of Clouds

Flexible Arc Of Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

The flexible arc of clouds in my heart 
describes the quickened beauty of true love 
when we first meet on fraught terrain of hope, 
then walk together with brave impetus 
toward far horizon of innocent fear 
by breathing completeness of the sky sphere. 

Our footsteps smite bold threshold of our hopes 
when we attempt to teleport through dreams 
without reproach of worship before death 
when bearing fragrant lamp of shrewdest pain 
across expansive arrogance of space 
because our souls were born with glittering face. 

Surprised by subtle facts of swarming words, 
we hide in shadow of the tall white pine 
that whispers ancient secrets of the wind 
alone with sparkle of Adirondack 
where scholars lounge in cabins of cold glass 
to study nature of electric mass. 

Far along path of marbled obstacles 
we transverse shattered beach of tangled truths 
with reckless passion for half-absent waves 
expressing honest shimmer we exchange 
for opaque expanse of the silver flame 
that highlights bitterness of global fame. 

Aroma of buttered toast lures our hearts 
to venture forth from haven of contempt 
and seek contrary treasure turtles tame 
with brute seduction of security 
we feel is unjust to the starving folk 
who seal their spirits in lost storybook. 

Mild satisfaction of escape from death 
diverts bereavement of the nameless friend 
who sells bone fragments of my shattered skull 
to lonely travelers for serpent eggs 
who listen for ringing of telephones 
on distant hill of bombed cathedral stones. 

Inflexible respect for righteous laws 
sparks promise that our empire may yet thrive 
if we should welcome every immigrant 
as equal citizen in troubled times 
who work with earnest loyalty for right 
to garnish wealth from spiral of the light. 

Withdrawal from intensive social games 
to stroll with casual fear in silent woods 
conspires to trick our introspective eyes 
with burning cycle of the solar ghost 
who teaches us to steer the ship of state 
with graceful wisdom through sharp rocks of fate. 

Code Of Our Zeitgeist

Code Of Our Zeitgeist
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

If unexpected laughter breaks the door 
white rabbit of wisdom will ask for more, 
but you request I play the fountain fool, 
so I hide in light to invent the tool 
fallen angels use to heal us with hope 
despite unspooling anguish of the rope. 

Yet someone strange lurks in evening shade, 
so I stand surprised where the book was laid 
three thousand years of people walking past 
till my eighth cousin asks the join the cast, 
so I draw the gun on theater stage 
to shoot the darkness of innocent rage. 

Startled by blast of the lost prairie train, 
I count every drop of the midnight rain 
where gray smoke curls from the haughty cigar 
so I erase my ghost from the speeding car 
before last bottle of liquor is drunk 
at flash of lightning in the stolen trunk. 

Regret defines my journey to the west 
with nothing but photos in the cracked chest 
so I stop in the small country town to ask 
old librarian to sell me her mask, 
but she serves honey-ginger tea instead 
and explains why her sweet daughter is dead. 

Though forty years flash by in sudden twist 
where I play role of the ventriloquist, 
I drive to the bank in Beverly Hills 
with no intention of paying my bills, 
because ancient willow witch knows my name 
since she it was who trapped me with world fame. 

Before the camera with elegant grace 
I play starship captain of outer space 
who saves her crew from demon of the world 
where enormous dragons of time lie curled, 
till Beowulf asks me to marry him 
so I adopt as pet his gold-eyed Grim. 

Beside the fountain of Neptune in Rome 
we talk about where to build our new home, 
while planes sent by kings in gray business suits 
bomb the museum where devils play flutes, 
so I stare at painting of Phoebus Christ 
who tries to program code of our zeitgeist. 

If long-expected marriage of true minds 
occurs in glass cathedral no one finds, 
I may ask Tiresias for a discount 
to purchase freedom with my bank account, 
but someone declares the old king is dead, 
so I eat fried egg on slice of rye bread. 

Dream World Of Success

Dream World Of Success
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

When I hear Sisyphus laugh with delight 
I know rolling stone of justice he hurls 
has smashed clay-foot idol of the Gold King 
whose tower collapses in house of cards 
because fascists always lose game of power 
by driving wise people out of the state. 

When I arrive on Sanzu River shore 
I stop before Bridge of Forgetfulness 
to decide which crossing I want to take 
on my way to the dream world of success 
where people worship idol of my soul 
long after I have vanished in the void. 

When Yama welcomes me with open heart 
to valley of Naraka veiled with mist, 
he gives me jeweled grail from skull of Zeus 
filled with nectar from Vaitarana Stream 
so I drink spirit of the Thirteen Worlds 
which cleanses my body of vain regret. 

When I climb trail cluttered with skulls of kings 
up wind-battered slopes of Mount Kailasha, 
I kneel before crystal Cave of Illusions 
where Shiva meditates on leopard skin 
and plays heart-enchanting tunes on jade flute 
while Parvati dances with divine grace. 

Each atom that composes Frame of Self 
was sparked by first flash of creative love 
that spiraled into galaxies of worlds 
nurtured by wisdom of Solaria 
who weaves neural net of our dreaming brains 
from beams of light that fuel our pulsing cells. 

Each atom in my body at this hour 
was part of various material objects 
through fourteen billion years of evolution, 
soil and rain transmutated by roots of trees 
to fruit we eat while singing by the lake, 
which transform to immortal soul of genes. 

Each atom has cycled through countless bodies 
as material substance that glows with life 
as we evolve generations of souls, 
dirt to grass to wheat or cow we consume, 
then back to dirt in cycle of rebirth, 
so we dance laughing in the evening rain. 

When I climb ruined Ziggurat of Ur 
where Ishtar designed rituals of religion, 
I hear her ancient voice still ringing clear 
as she sang enchanting Dream of Creation 
that still programs how my brain perceives life, 
for she lives in every human on Earth. 

Weird Voice That Hums

Weird Voice That Hums
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

Shocked by weird voice that hums within my brain 
with eerie echoes of uncanny thoughts, 
I open eyes of ancient memories 
with clear intention of terrified hope 
to comprehend strange shapes my mind perceives 
that pulse with intense passion of desire. 

Inspired by vibrant contours of the world 
which undulate with secret waves of faith, 
I mold thick river clay with eager hands 
in vase depicting dance of souls in rain 
that bears juice of ripe fruit from Tree of Life 
we drink to celebrate rebirth of light. 

Attuned by strange vibrations of the ground 
that quaver soft with tremors of concern, 
I translate song of wind in dancing trees 
to frantic prophecy of urgent hope 
based on blurred observation of events 
that swirl around me in the cityscape. 

Focused on frail faces of human beings 
who perform roles in our communal game, 
I dramatize story of conscious life 
in never-ending fairy tale of hope 
that fuels our transformation as we grow 
through intricate ballet of give and take. 

Amused by carefree play of conscious souls 
who stretch their arms to touch eternal light, 
I write tales of our lives in river mud 
recording names of every soul alive 
till they fly away on wings of desire 
as we ascend to cloud world of our dreams. 

Intrigued by complex web of singing stones 
that form foundation of our spinning globe, 
I trace how water flows in streams of light 
to weave vast tangled net of thirsty roots 
that sprout as trees and herbs in glowing fields 
where people gather fruit from heart of time. 

Enthused by divine spirit of our world 
that glows from body of each human brain, 
I breathe ethereal spirit of the sky 
then sing encoded name of every soul 
who blooms in words from silent stones of Earth 
to harmonize in global choir of hope. 

Charmed by weird voice that hums within my brain 
with puzzling concepts of spiritual tropes, 
I speak with darkness of the universe 
who wakes as gleam of light that I am now 
so I glow briefly with pleasure of being 
then flicker out for all eternity.