Perfect House Of Dreams

Perfect House Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2023 02 26

Through stark analysis of clocking birds, 
who strut on chessboards of conceptual fate, 
I find hydraulic fragments of lost time 
scattered on hills of sun-baked apathy, 
so I search for the perfect house of dreams 
where my children can play beside cool streams. 

The blind chickadee in the purple birch 
considers honest cactus in my yard, 
but chooses to define dream formulas 
adequate for how we measure our fate 
based on choices of chemical desire 
that model children who sing in the choir. 

Sweet ennui for how the open door breathes 
excites my misery for people who die 
in wars and famines that shatter our faith 
in grand narrative of our global play 
despite reluctance to channel new shows 
about children who sing in bitter snows. 

The mountain chickadee on my thumb knows 
secret name my mother gave me at birth 
so I sit at round table of false wealth 
to gamble for salvation with my heart 
though I always lose in the final round 
when children run to the flashy fairground. 

When we choose to go down the rabbit hole 
to find the queen who rules in Wonderland, 
we find ourselves stranded in the Dream Void, 
unable to remember the password 
we once used to access fake paradise 
because the perfect house of dreams is nice. 

The ghost of Sri Dewi in field of rice 
asks the yellow chickadee by the sea 
how to construct the perfect house of dreams 
where she can paint the history of the world 
in the weird book no one will ever read 
while the raven seer designs new world creed.