Photograph My Bones

Photograph My Bones
© Surazeus
2023 01 19

I never let her photograph my bones 
so she still thinks I am the lonely oak 
that walks every evening to the book store 
where ghosts emanate from dream-tangled words 
without regret for why the wet road leads 
to the white farmhouse on misty green plain. 

The unknown driver turns the worried wheel 
to stab dark gloom with grim headlights of hope 
in vain search for the old shadowless bride 
whose gray eyes explain the bone-chilling night 
soft as eerie jazz on the radio 
still wailing after the midnight moon bleeds. 

The large thing in the woods decides to show 
laughing children how the arrogant book 
specifies abrupt thoughts of hungry fear 
that beat against the house of haughty doors 
safer than the church where kind monsters pray 
for salvation from painting of the man. 

The vaguely heroic vibe death radiates 
while sitting by cracked window of desire 
veils long-dead stars with troubling attitude 
that disregards conceptual rules designed 
by the blind man who plays piano well 
enough to need no compass for the game. 

The woman who never wears the white dress 
still holding shadow of faith in her hands 
decides to walk backward down marble stairs 
slow enough for the hummingbird to know 
which key will open glass cathedral mind 
before she finishes weaving my wings. 

The end of the world will never be dark 
because the sun will be expanding fast 
from exploding core of atomic choice 
that leaves us teetering on the edge of time 
if we choose to smile subtler than the orange 
which rolls off the round table of state power. 

The rain that howls against the window mask 
wants to kiss my mind with subtle respect 
for lies told by the man in the black suit 
since he spends winters plowing the dry field 
to find skulls of kings for his mantelpiece 
which will never prophesy death of love. 

The drowned daughter who lies beside the oak 
sings with the nervous sparrow about why 
we are all frail in the starless black night 
as numberless ghosts stuck in storybooks 
with remorseless predators who sell truth 
to the last girl who melts into sea waves.