I Forget Who I Am © Surazeus 2019 03 01 I forget who I am before I wake so I invent new self from ocean salt and talk to God, my father in the cloud whose face stares down at me from beams of light, then I float in pond where fish kiss my eyes so I become clear shadow of your heart. I stand in nothing of slant morning light and become wind that whispers in frail trees so if you want to find out where I live follow chewed cores of apples on mud shore of this small river that already knows weird new name I intend to dream today. The apple on black tree grows more blood red than gold sun that beams through my tender skin, illuminating fragile bones of faith that sprout invisible wings of desire so we can fly together from this town where we must invent new names every dawn. The black heart of the moon shines in my eye to flash awake strange consciousness of rain so I paddle small wood boat of bird bones on laughing river that mocks how I sing, then gives me another name to pretend I am important as the bleeding moon. I forget who I am before I wake so I invent new soul from fractured glass of every mirror ever forged from sand yet when I tear my face off howling wraith I wake from anguish of our river flow to know why nothing springs from broken hearts. Inside small house of glass on river shore in deep valley between high jagged peaks I mold new body for my shivering soul to rise reborn from ashes of world war then look in mirror to see every face of every person who gazed in its truth. I weave ten billion faces in one face so I become omniscient god we dream who stands on river shore at dawn of time and weaves her visions into neuron cells that sparkle in billions of living brains though she is now statue in cleansing rains. Now that I design new self to be real, which I mold from mud of Castalian Spring, I stand on street corner and sing your tales because immortal mask of my true face mirrors your face when you look in my soul since we are sparkles of the vast White Whole.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
No comments:
Post a Comment