We Become Each Other Now © Surazeus 2019 03 14 Whirled snow flakes invent new name for my hand that touches infinite gloom. Every time the vacuum cleaner cries out to the light three birds take my eyes to the naked cave where the oldest woman in the world paints keys that lock broken hearts. Nowhere else time spools threads from tangled brain. We think he knows how cows design milk from rainbows of faith. The cat with eight eyes in glass box of dreams rules the real world that does not yet exist outside my words. When I wake before dawn I realize my eyes are open wide hole big as the Grand Canyon. I step from van and run across desert hill where quick snakes explain algorithm of heat. The secret of being awake I give to the last bird. Vast eye of the glowing ruby collides with passionate hope to resolve slipstream of infinite truth. I speak formulas of quick contraction on chessboard of power however long it takes to film the truth. All the sleek planes at every airport in the world are asleep in mask of ice. I am the emperor of this broken mirror. Where is my flower-eyed harbinger of love who wants to help kill priests stealing quick souls of children? Looking down in fragile vase of glass skulls, she watches birds without wings flock to ancient tree of rotten fruit. Death calls me on the telephone. Laughing ghost of transparent faith glues my skeleton back together from numbers without light. I paint lattice that reveals inner life I store in attic where ghosts twist contempt to create tornadoes. I design names for each tornado born from spiral eyes. Black phantom leaps from walls of ruined church to eat light in nuclear reactor dome though we kiss. I stand here on this one spot of lightning sparks in all our universe. The emptiness of truth that is my ghost visits my mother and father in dreams they never remember. I paint on wall of every house I lived in fifty years faces of dictators who murdered millions of children we are not. Never the meek inherit the Earth. Hungry angels howl idea of apples through my wandering cloud. I am the chosen guide you once called for before you crushed the telephone with rocks of salvation. I look at bright-lit homes filled with lives of invisible non-persons who equate night with silence of lost words. All I follow is my own strange desire to know why. Stark edge of infinity beckons me to drink darkness of true love. From broken dreams of lost pathetic souls I assemble puzzle of inner life that reveals desires to rule the fake world of fragile hopes. This door might be the one that leads me to paradise I invent from your myths. I found them in dusty books, the masks you dropped on the highway to hell although they resemble your loyal friends. Strict anguish of contempt scratched on car door conceals secret formula for success we buy at the discount store. I drive far beyond broken walls of your paradise because I want to live in my own heaven though the gate is locked. I stop at red lights and think about the mask I wear today which mirrors obsessions you never speak. Memories of those times we sat in the park talking about meaning of nothing much keep popping up before my staring eyes. All road signs point to Glow Cloud in blank skies where emptiness of self is all I know. True happiness, packaged in factories by religious zombies, so long for sale, bleeds from my eyes when indifferent rain sings. The bullet of hate knocks his head backward and splatters fragments of his pulsing brains on our blank faces for a thousand years so we laugh. I peel faces of my parents from my fractured skull to reveal mute demon whose emptiness blooms from dinosaur eggs to become this persona I express when I play chess with Death on windy beach. She looks through glasses at my twisted heart to calculate love that bleeds from my mouth. I smear dreams of compassion on blank page of every book that no one ever reads in every dark library in the world where you wait. I always see your true face in the mirror where you have never looked for your soul. We become each other now.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Thursday, March 14, 2019
We Become Each Other Now
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