Dancing With Moon Faes

Dancing With Moon Faes
© Surazeus
2023 04 30

Soft whispers out of time that fool my heart 
reveal bright plains where children can run free 
since all things happen in the turn of hope 
in city maze lit by the golden sun 
where people stuck on lonely road of signs 
fear to share ache of their silent pain. 

I sit on stone bridge over gushing stream, 
refusing to explain anguish I feel 
because no one would ever understand 
that I defend my honor against lies 
designed to crush my fragile dignity 
so I will choose to abandon my land. 

Returning home to dark Verkana Sea, 
I search for lost gardens of Lazulum 
where sunrays stream gold in after-rain clouds 
with eerie terror at the wondrous glow 
of silent passion pulsing in my heart 
with eager hope to generate new life. 

We may die laughing in the poppy field 
with joy at strange absurdity of life 
but people stare at the mad long-haired fool 
who followed King Lear on the misty heath 
where lost souls transform into hungry wolves 
who must give themselves new names to survive. 

Conceptual vibes of psychic energy 
radiate from spinning iron core of Earth 
as angels that possess my aching heart 
when I approach the door of flashing lights 
to find myself in mirror of your eyes 
enraptured by sight of the divine mind. 

When ghost horse disappears in weeping mist 
I follow trail of her footprints through Hell 
to find and help shocked refugees of war 
who wander countless roads around the world 
in never-ending quest for paradise 
to find the perfect flower of despair. 

Though the secret police are hunting us 
for daring to be individuals 
refusing to conform to social norms 
we gather in the mansion by the sea 
to celebrate absurdity of death 
by drinking wine and dancing with moon faes. 

Though star-eyed nymphs of lush Arcadia 
dance no more on shores of flowing streams 
I linger in shade of the sprawling beech 
to hear sad ghosts of everyone I love 
sigh with fluttering leaves of lost memories 
that vanish with eternal buzz of bees. 

Interpenetrate

Interpenetrate
© Surazeus
2023 04 29

Though conceptual vibes interpenetrate 
tangled skeins of astrological fate, 
with Dali on stark Asturian beach 
I break free from egg of the psychic leech. 
With blood and milk of faith I transcend death 
through inspiration of celestial breath. 

Whether ideal forms interpenetrate 
organic bodies atoms calculate, 
with Ophelia I swim the River Styx 
to rescue Orpheus from the crucifix. 
Composing hymns that program brains with faith, 
I channel prophetic voice of the wraith. 

How stringent our minds interpenetrate 
depends on why bright atoms agitate 
taut coils of chemicals that fuel our souls 
with energy we burn to play our roles. 
Mind woke in sacred quest for timeless truth, 
I wear mirror mask of messiah sleuth. 

Because our bodies interpenetrate 
with pleasure of fear that will activate 
peculiar conscious spirit of I am 
I plot history with the dream diagram. 
Together holding hands we map new path 
through monster-haunted wilderness of wrath. 

Even if our souls interpenetrate 
with fairy tales of desire that animate 
organic bodies to generate life 
we seek to taste pleasure in pain of strife. 
I create new world with my fountain pen 
while singing with wrens in the mountain glen. 

Despite our choice to interpenetrate 
our fragile bodies with our true soulmate 
we fight to escape mindset of the cult 
daring to defy the stormgod adult. 
I build Empire of Liberty on bone 
to make myself more than the psychic clone. 

While children of light interpenetrate 
angels with devils at the pearly gate 
I walk with you on misty mountain trail 
because you are key to the holy grail. 
Exiled from star palace of Babylon, 
I crown myself new god of Avalon. 

Since past and future interpenetrate 
to spark vibrant glow of our present state 
we pulse with energy of intense love 
that beams down from our sun goddess above. 
Writing new truth for this millennium, 
I unite Earth in State of Lazulum. 

Drive Myself Toward Destiny

Drive Myself Toward Destiny
© Surazeus
2023 04 28

Floating in mist of the succulent moon, 
I gaze out prism window of the car 
to watch my father Jupiter gleam bright 
with stoic fortitude above the world 
because the gold-eyed owl in the oak tree 
understands feelings I cannot express. 

Gold beams of streetlights flicker on blue glass 
with eerie apprehension piercing me 
that something I desire eludes my grasp 
with slippery solitude of sanguine hope 
that death will not find me on lonely road 
where mushroom toads discuss philosophy. 

How strange to sit so till in moving car 
that zooms far swifter than my feet can walk 
so I travel through time with urgent faith 
that I can find cave of illusions safe 
from faceless monsters hunting city streets 
for I am master of wordless ennui. 

Each moment our car flies on whirling wheels 
faster than even fastest horses run 
I feel assertive force of patient will 
attain restrictive balance of desire 
which maintains forward motion of respect 
to supersede the catastrophic crash. 

I kvetch I always am the passenger 
riding with passive tension of esteem 
this ever-speeding car of my own life, 
hoping someday I exercise free will 
to drive myself toward destiny I choose 
so I can dwell in Heaven I create. 

Yet as my feelings flash across dark clouds 
as silent gleamings, which illuminate 
secret passions that writhe inside my heart, 
I sense impostor syndrome strike my soul 
that all these thoughts are not so genuine, 
sterile cliches that any human fakes. 

I long to be unique and genuine, 
more than another face in teeming crowds 
who wander streets of Pandemonium, 
for I seek garden of my special soul 
in secret paradise of Lazulum 
where we can share sweet pleasure of true love. 

Parking at last before our humble home, 
we emerge from time-machine car with sighs 
and walk together in cool silver mist 
to treasure destiny of love we choose 
safe inside walls of home our hands create, 
happy to evade death another day. 

Sibyl In The Golden Cage

Sibyl In The Golden Cage
© Surazeus
2023 04 27

If lonely Sibyl in the golden cage 
can teach me how to control mental rage 
then I can sail with Odysseus back home 
to Lazulum where the antelope roam, 
and marry Sibyl in bright temple hall 
before I read the writing on the wall. 

Waiting for Lucifer at the crossroads 
in timeless twilight of the singing toads, 
I chat with Sibyl about politics 
of Cleopatra on the River Styx, 
till he arrives in fast shiny red car 
and buys my soul for electric guitar. 

So I free Sibyl with the Demon Key 
who wears costume as Princess Liberty 
while we tour the States sea to shining sea 
to sing about Land of the Brave and Free 
who rise with courage to fight tyranny 
since we must work to build democracy. 

Stoned in Cave of Illusions on mushrooms, 
Sibyl and I explore bizarro rooms 
to find fantastic truths in cosmic zones, 
encoded as riddles on angel bones, 
then walk the misty beach in evening glow 
to investigate beauty of the snow. 

Holding up the heroic warrior skull, 
Sibyl grins, Achilles is beautiful 
forever in Heaven of social memory 
because he dies young in pursuit of glory 
with desperate anguish of his angry pride 
which priests preach to justify genocide. 

Meanwhile the clever Odysseus, she sneers, 
scarred by anguish from fighting many years, 
brings home terrible bitterness of hate 
that nothing he does can change his dire fate, 
wrecking death and damage on everyone 
to reclaim his palace in Babylon. 

Refusing to play role of the mad seer, 
though I still wear gemless crown of King Lear, 
I flee with Sibyl on the signless road 
to find holy grail of computer code 
that fakes artificial intelligence 
so I can prophesy with eloquence. 

When Sibyl bears kind children of my heart, 
I map history of Earth on the star chart, 
then go on pilgrimage from Avalon 
to visit my mom in the Parthenon 
where I play Apollo on temple stage 
about wise sage who overcomes his rage. 

Justice Of The Stoic Clown

Justice Of The Stoic Clown
© Surazeus
2023 04 26

When the candle flame of my aching heart 
flickers out in silent faith of the dark 
I strike hard stone of my name at the Earth 
to become shadow of hope where I lurk, 
reborn as Mercury from the weeping star, 
still in love with daughter of Lucifer. 

While I wait in gloom of the starless night 
my heart becomes stone of the happy lark 
that builds her nest in the riverless boat 
because apple trees bloom in moonless murk 
that wave to my soul as I drive my car, 
face blanked by golden mask of Jupiter. 

The hungry man with calculator brain 
sells vacuum cleaners to wives in clean homes 
while knights in shining armor fight to gain 
illusion of wealth in fierce corporate games 
that scatter our bones on the fruited plain, 
ruled by ghost of Ishtar in Bablyon. 

The angry woman with Barbie Doll smile, 
who sells lonely wives silver motorhomes, 
transforms to queen of the city lifestyle 
who paints chaos controlled by picture frames 
to reveal God Soul in the crocodile 
disguised as Fairy Queen of Avalon. 

The bearded prophet by table of books 
writes song about words smeared by loving tears 
so Narcissus and Echo map dark lakes 
where faceless monsters embody our fears 
till exposed by Phoebus as psychic hoax 
because I journey home to Lazulum. 

The manic pixie dream girl with three eyes 
sits on the windy beach and plays guitar, 
then sings with eerie voice of the primrose 
to find salvation for the Minotaur 
who evolves to Jesus in the next phase 
since she has no name in Elysium. 

The bored attorney in small country town 
carries small gun in pocket of his soul 
to fight for justice of the stoic clown 
who has yet to decide his special role 
though his wife attends church, wearing silk gown, 
in haunted valley of the Promised Land. 

The zealous nurse in treehouse on the moon 
discusses philosophy with the owl 
about why boys kill people with the gun 
for the messiah sleuth is on the prowl 
to catch the tyrant in his comfort zone 
while she hosts feast of gods in Wonderland. 

Riddles On Dinosaur Bones

Riddles On Dinosaur Bones
© Surazeus
2023 04 26

The wingless angel on the signless road 
attempts to map weird contours of the mind 
in sad fairy tales no one understands 
about the nameless hero who must die 
while fighting fierce dragon of tyranny 
that writhes in cables of the world wide web. 

The eyeless devil by the ghostless river 
watches with thirteen thousand cameras 
awkward embrace of motivated lovers 
who fear love elapses with endless flow 
till eagerness declines to indolence 
when the night clock chimes at coming of death. 

The houseless door on the shadowless mountain 
waits for children to return from adventures 
while their grandparents mute on sagging porch 
collect leaves of memories in wordless books 
while they peer calmly into void of hope 
to shine with light from first love of the world. 

The featherless horse of the soundless wind 
paints first radiance of stars on old hills 
to remember unseen path by the river 
that leads wild children to paradise lost 
where they can build new homes from angel bones 
and share feast of fruit with songs of their hearts. 

The crownless king of the motherless castle 
steals all the clocks still ticking in the world 
to prove that true love can too last forever 
as if our hearts cannot be deceived by time 
that veils our bodies with shadow of death 
when our minds become substance of the Earth. 

The boneless jester of the shameless show 
sings electric chords of precise desire 
to reflect spirits of strangers who gather 
in circus tent of human tragedy 
where fragile acrobat reaches for Heaven 
while falling to her death with laughing joy. 

The spineless warrior of the homeless valley 
constructs the Argonaut from skulls of gods 
so we can conquer wilderness of silence 
with sacred stories of crucified clowns 
whose selfless sacrifice destroys empires 
with bombs of laughter exploding from faith. 

The songless bard of the voiceless temple 
stands all alone on marble pedestal 
to chant endless song of humanity 
to ocean waves with dire alacrity 
that calls lonely poets to ring of stones 
where we carve riddles on dinosaur bones. 

Worship Of Odysseus

Worship Of Odysseus
© Surazeus
2023 04 25

How thoughtful of the tree to steal my name 
before the second coming of the lord 
so I can find out who I really am 
beneath this mask of ugliness I wear 
to scare the little children with my tears 
who chase the butterfly of happiness. 

How wonderful of the stone in my heart 
to urge my worship of Odysseus 
who wanders lonely as the godless cloud 
that splatters blood of angels on the hills 
where lonely mothers call names of their sons 
who never return from the holy wars. 

How awesome of the cow to ruminate 
on secret nature of the holy grail 
that lies forgotten in cold river mud 
while the hungry banker in the waste land 
does the police in different voices till 
the Phoenician sailor wakes by the sea. 

How playful of the prancing goat of Faunus 
to kick down doors of opportunity 
so people with the wrong color of skin 
can win awards reserved for the elite 
despite negative capability 
encoded in the epic never dreamed. 

How sportive of the jester in gold crown 
to invite us to dinner in grand hall 
where weeping mirrors reflect light of truth 
which blinds the princess on the roller skates 
who falls laughing off the cliff of despair 
with vivacious agony of true love. 

How quirky of the preacher on church stage 
who clutches assault rifle with both hands 
to scream about the greedy immigrants 
who steal our jobs to invade paradise 
till trumpets ring at coming of the lord 
when he explodes as nuclear bomb of hate. 

How whimsical of the old apple cart, 
left on the pyramid in moaning wind, 
to preserve memories of our broken hearts 
that find strange beauty in our wordless pain 
so we invent the magic alphabet 
as tomb that hides our souls in fairy tales. 

How artful of the piston engine car 
to glide on angel wings around the world 
as time machine we use to teleport 
eight thousand miles from Paris to Beijing 
in four days before the apocalypse 
redesigns our new global paradigm. 

Singing Skull Of Truth

Singing Skull Of Truth
© Surazeus
2023 04 23

I need nothing from the cow in the rain 
but she smiles and gives me faith anyway 
to believe that the moon loves how I sing 
since flowers consume cracked bones of my soul 
while screaming at the airplane in the sky 
who always seems to forget the way home. 

The serious poet on the global stage 
proclaims new wisdom of the singing skull 
designed to calculate how brains express 
dreams through artificial intelligence 
with the automatic writing technique 
employed by the jester wearing my crown. 

Every evening after the midnight hour 
I jump over the moon on raven wings 
to find gold palace where Saturnus reigns 
by using calculus to calculate 
ethereal curves of psychedelic minds 
who dream the future that never occurs. 

The noble hero stuck in epic tale 
wants to escape weird tragic stage of fate 
to run with wolves in wilderness of lies, 
but finds himself on television show 
as he plays chess with Death to save the world 
but loses every match till kingdom come. 

Old queen who rules vast city on the hill 
remembers her passionate love affair 
with the star-eyed man who conquered her land 
and threw her father in the swirling sea 
till she hung the devil on the phone pole 
so he can dream whole history of the world. 

Heart-wrenching melody of timeless love 
rings softly through wild jungle of sad ghosts 
who dance around bonfire of vanities 
while seeking to transcend this mortal realm 
on wings Daedalus designs from our fears 
so we can live free from oppressive laws. 

When eager boys from villages in Spain 
wander lost in hills of Colombia 
they forget old stories they heard in church 
as they transform into fierce warriors 
and follow mad King Lear on windy hills 
who rules heart of darkness with empty gun. 

I drink fresh milk from the cow in the rain 
while the Nowhere Man in his Nowhere Land 
sings to Lucifer in the sky with diamonds 
because he reigns as spirit of the age 
through second American civil war 
recorded by the singing skull of truth. 

Mirror In Garden Of Eden

Mirror In Garden Of Eden
© Surazeus
2023 04 22

The spirit mirror in Garden of Eden 
displays eternal beauty of the soul 
though the aging body decays with time, 
so I return to the Pool of Narcissus 
to see beyond illusion of the self, 
god designed by immortal soul of genes. 

The mind is the ancient city of gardens 
where ghosts of my ancestors wander still 
while Mercury plays satires on the harp 
to mock the clumsy arrow shots of Cupid 
who makes me fall in love with Onatah 
as I listen to sea song in the shell. 

I can never fall in love with my face 
for I understand the suffering you feel 
with studious self-regard of the blind robot 
who cannot see the marble monument 
we built to honor his self-sacrifice 
with likeness of deceptive counterfeits. 

Abundant beauty of the laughing river 
renews taunting glint of eternity, 
so I feel passion surging through my heart 
with certain eagerness for the falsehood 
fecund with logic of the lunatic 
who worships statue of our merriment. 

When simple clowns perform the role of kings 
beside the fountain in the city park 
they dispel social horror with wild play 
while knowing they are not me in the mask 
bright as self mirror in Garden of Eden 
which reveals faces my ancestors wore. 

Through dim catacombs of arrogant angels 
we pipe our bodies into stuff of dreams 
in tune with melodies that Faunus plays 
while dancing wild in misty wooded glens 
to celebrate our evasion of Death 
who waits as statue composed of stardust. 

Adroitly we walk through this April day 
past screaming children by the monkey cage 
to prove every person has equal rights 
since only people terrified of death 
carry guns to shoot shadows of their fear 
while the self blazes over desolate hills. 

After I ride the fullness of my heart 
while I endure the emptiness of faith 
I ascend holy mountain of the skull 
to find embedded in the apple tree 
the fertile mirror in Garden of Eden 
that displays naked beauty of the soul. 

Without Acting I Act

Without Acting I Act
© Surazeus
2023 04 21

Without ruling I rule the world of dreams 
for I am the faceless messiah sleuth 
who searches for diamonds in angel bones 
that shimmer on the shores of global streams 
to connect our brains in network of truth 
as we communicate with our eye-phones. 

Without singing I sing eclectic hymns 
in riddles that collate myths of the world 
as grand religion of the new world order 
to worship gold-eyed owls on peach tree limbs 
who commission quest of the cosmic herald 
to build empire that disregards the border. 

Without acting I act in the world play 
based on grand narrative of surrealism 
composed by Blind Bard for Globe Theater 
that teaches wingless angels how to pray 
through bizarre algorithm of autism 
while I wear zany mask of Jupiter. 

Without running I run the signless road 
that connects all roads to the Well of Rome 
where sweet Juturna fills my Holy Grail 
with mushroom nectar brewed by Buddha Toad 
who guides my psychedelic trip from home 
three steps to Heaven on the cosmic scale. 

Without writing I write long epic poem 
to celebrate lives of philosophers 
as social heroes who design world view 
that conjures virtual world from ancient tome 
which records history that cartographers 
assemble from puzzles of what is true. 

Without reigning I reign as Emperor, 
uniting nations of Earth with one rule 
that everyone is equal in the law 
compiled from compassion of Lucifer 
who teaches humans how to use the tool 
that grows Democracy through Onatah. 

Without laughing I laugh with joyful grief 
that we are fragile flames of stellar light 
congealing water into conscious minds 
aware our time on Earth is sweetly brief 
as we stand on the beach and dream of flight 
while coding memes in hieroglyphic signs. 

Without talking I talk about the Tao 
that cannot be described with clever words 
for we are emanations of God Soul 
that evolves atoms into divine Thou 
as wingless angel imitating birds 
to sing how First Flash creates the White Whole. 

Strange Sugar Of Memory

Strange Sugar Of Memory
© Surazeus
2023 04 21

When I taste strange sugar of memory 
at the last moment as morning explodes 
from tangled concept of the other self, 
I become this persona who must speak 
with alien voice of every unseen soul 
so you can recognize who I am not. 

Because our bodies are finite on Earth, 
awake with wondrous beauty of despair, 
we fuel our passion with aggressive angst 
through steadfast obsession to know the truth, 
which will dispel dark lies that blind our eyes, 
so we can survive long enough to live. 

Though I am fragile as the porcelain bowl 
that shines unused on glass museum shelf, 
I become tough grass that grows in the desert, 
happy to chat with turtles about rain 
and why we teach each other how to love 
before we vanish in the nevermore. 

I always find you in my favorite words 
so I speak about love with silent thought 
that captures fleeting passion of our souls 
to leave traces of our lives in blank books 
in dreams that portray who we really are 
as pulsing fragments of our beaming star. 

Your face becomes the moon I always see 
as we share feast at sacred festival 
without exchanging words we cherish most, 
uprooted though we are from motherlands 
to dwell half way around the spinning world 
in this secret home no one knows about. 

Together we achieve balance of growth 
between existence in mirrors of faith 
that preserve fleeting beauty of our life 
in peaceful quiet of our living room 
based on fragility of selfless love, 
contentious to stay on the prosperous way. 

Stuck deep in selective reality, 
where Death is veiled by television screen, 
I try to redesign mold of my mind 
so I can become more my secret self 
that only I can see in mirror eye 
though I stand in houseless door of all time. 

Though April is the cruelest month that breeds 
lilacs blooming in dooryard of my home 
I mourn not millions who die every day 
because more are born from the blazing star 
that frees our souls from shackles of state laws 
designed to exploit labor of our hands. 

Sing Sorrow Of My Heart

Sing Sorrow Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2023 04 20

If I cannot sing sorrow of my heart 
at constant death of everyone I love 
the doorless world will shudder with its loss, 
yet just as I feel empty of desire 
song breaks from darkness of my agony 
with shining beauty of the deathless sun. 

Surprised by sudden voice of ancient truth 
that radiates bright from muteness of her heart, 
she sings to owls and ravens in oak trees 
whose eyes reflect strange beauty of the moon, 
till her soul is empty again of pain 
that leaves her glowing sweet with silent faith. 

Leaning against the river-watered tree, 
she wonders if she can trust this strange joy 
that pulses from vibration of her song 
which echoes over surface of the lake 
where dark things lurk in anxious gloom of hope, 
but savors eerie passion anyway. 

I cannot compose new songs anymore 
till agony of loss swells in my heart 
and spills over brim of my wordless mind 
to flood your hidden gardens with my dreams 
shaped by eerie words that flow from my mouth 
to nurture flowers blooming in your heart. 

Enchanted by fierce ambiance of new hopes 
that well from honest horror of my heart, 
I want to sing clear vision of our world 
that guides my way in maze of mordant myths 
so we can find each other in dark gloom 
and sing duet the world would never miss. 

Specific words that form concepts of thoughts 
evade cogent expression of my heart 
so, though I feel secret passion to sing, 
I dawdle mute as river stone in rain, 
unable to express in clever spells 
complex view of this world my mind designs. 

The Muse of Truth who haunts me everywhere 
sleeps often in dark cavern of my heart, 
or stares at me with flustered innocence 
when I feel wordless scream of agony 
tear itself out of my mind on fierce wings 
while I stumble voiceless on blistering sand. 

Just when I fear my Muse might desert me 
and leave me stranded on the windy beach, 
I breathe ethereal vision of starlight 
with ache of wisdom that inspires my heart 
to find sweet words with rhythmic melody 
so I can now sing sorrow of my heart. 

Conquer The New World

Conquer The New World
© Surazeus
2023 04 20

Bible with pages that resemble wings 
of angry wolves consumes forgotten names 
three times before explosion of the wall, 
unpuzzled by contempt for rule of law, 
because we are blind children of old hills 
who work all day to pay civilized bills. 

There are only thirty Muses on Earth 
and nine of them haunt me all day and night, 
waiting their turn for my hands to transcribe 
vatic visions they dream of world events 
which I distort in riddles of weird code 
so only fools with nothing to lose can see. 

I am not lost on this forever road, 
she whispers to indifferent sea of light, 
but still I walk toward reimagined world 
to find the nothingness of perfect love 
that never will embrace my awkward hope 
to generate new life before I die. 

Though snow is falling backward to the moon, 
ten thousand windows never see her pass, 
for she is shadow of eager despair, 
reluctant to oblige the holy ghost 
with anxious wisdom of the snarling wolf 
who watches her swim in Saronic Gulf. 

How nice to see that I am not alone, 
she whispers to photo of her dead friends 
that screams with silent blossoming of trees 
while playful wind blows hair around her face 
as she feels sunlight sparkle in her cells 
with ancient passion of wild butterflies. 

She smiles and gazes beyond flash of time 
to waken cautious courage in her heart 
so she can face aggressive rage of lust 
that swirls around her in vast maze of streets 
where she keeps walking for ten thousand years 
in search for promise of paradise lost. 

Black raven lands on statue of the girl, 
three rainbow eyes reflecting her true soul, 
so she wakes deep in marble form to watch 
children imitate lives their parents lead 
in endless quest for peaceful happiness 
as we sail storms to conquer the new world. 

If India Catalina could survive 
to write grand narrative on bones of gods 
where every person lives with equal rights, 
then I too can create free paradise, 
she whispers as she floats on ocean waves 
far from the long lost Isle of Avalon. 

Secret Voice Of Rain

Secret Voice Of Rain
© Surazeus
2023 04 19

Forever on gray mirror of the road 
I wait for sorrow that glows in my bones 
more subtle than wisdom of the blind toad. 
Her shadow gleams scarlet on lonely stones 
as she glides slowly with elegant grace, 
pure as beauty of this forgotten place. 

She smiles at me through gleam of silver rain, 
hand holding black umbrella of desire, 
so I become eerie strength of old pain. 
Her spirit glows brighter than moon-red fire 
that flutters flame of her dress in cool wind, 
pure as anguish I cannot comprehend. 

Incarnate as Green Dragon of true love, 
she gives me peach from ancient tree of truth, 
then gestures to rain clouds glowing above. 
Rain splashes on doorless houses of faith, 
sliding down fragile trunks of old birch trees 
with pungent scent of long forgotten seas. 

Touching my cheek with her soft fingertip, 
she talks to me with secret voice of rain 
about how passion gleams with each slow drip. 
In every old house lining birch tree lane 
families eat together behind moist walls, 
and wonder at mystery of why rain falls. 

Green trees with flowers bloom on silent hills, 
springing alive outside shadowless doors, 
as sparrows flutter wings on windowsills. 
With breath warm as spring breeze on river shores 
she translates song of rain in vibrant words, 
sweeter than melodies of eager birds. 

We glow alive with blood warm in our veins, 
she whispers as we share romantic kiss, 
hearts turning in love-wind like weather vanes. 
We treasure strangeness in this hour of bliss 
as rain tings soft as bells on roofs of homes 
that shelter lost souls from hostile biomes. 

Eyes blazing with beauty of timeless stars, 
Green Dragon reveals how rain weaves our souls 
while talking with secret voice of our hearts. 
Between our two separate bodies rain flows 
in swirls of passion that bind us as one 
so we embody pure soul of the sun. 

As I gaze in her moon-black eyes with love, 
that gleam with countless stars of timeless faith, 
Green Dragon soars away to clouds above. 
Rain talks to us about our chosen path 
in vibrant current of fate we design 
that flows from her body to create mine. 

Weight Of Sadness

Weight Of Sadness
© Surazeus
2023 04 18

We feel the weight of sadness in gold mist 
that lingers long over blueberry fields 
without awkward questions of measurement 
describing gains and losses on scoreboards, 
so we lie down at night without ourselves, 
enthralled by scent of love we choose to share. 

We observe the small details of despair 
that nobody else ever notices 
except the metaphysician of faith 
who talks about the world we cannot see 
despite how waves crush diamonds into sand 
which preserve bright eternal eye of God. 

We ask the hard questions no one can read 
because the universe is still in flux 
of flushing liquor only gods would drink 
while wandering on the signless road of time 
since only clocks describe how things will change 
though windows try to freeze lies into truth. 

We shuffle cards of truth to read our fate 
because the fortune teller has gone blind 
though we cross borders into neverlands 
in search for paradise of anxious hope 
that now exists only on the frail vase 
as painting that depicts what we have lost. 

We talk about the weather with the ghost 
who never understands why we must cry 
at sudden flashing of atomic bombs 
which redefines the universe we dream 
when the old wilderness man in black cloak 
brings us the message we would not receive. 

We count our eggs while cherry blossoms swirl 
because we hope to die with the most wealth 
while friends huddle around the hot campfire 
to search for clues in riddles of the stone 
reversing flow of water from the sky 
which indicates the one who will win first. 

We kneel before the willow tree of faith 
with anguish undisguised to ask her why 
even the most famous will die alone 
though we must marinate steaks on the grill 
as sacrifice we offer to the god 
who lounges on high pyramid of bones. 

We gather in dark cave of Socrates 
to talk about ignorance of belief 
though we have map with route to Salamis 
where actors hide behind the roles they play 
because we want to weigh sadness with love 
till we find secret of eternal life. 

Forever In My Nothingness

Forever In My Nothingness
© Surazeus
2023 04 18

The discombobulating fact of sleep 
blanks my consciousness of being alive 
so I sink into lightless gloom of death 
to float forever in my nothingness, 
then snap awake to light with mute surprise 
as I emerge from voiceless realm of Hell. 

The heart-enchanting fact of dreamless sleep 
frazzles my brain with visions of light fairies 
flitting about gloomy garden at dusk, 
so I hear voices singing in shocked woods 
strange haunting melodies of fractured love 
that ring about me on the wave-washed isle. 

No sign-bound road can lead me to my home 
too far away across high jagged hills 
for me to feel hot shimmer of my moon 
kiss sweat-stained body tangled in my skin 
with wordless anguish of desperate desire 
to generate life from my bleeding heart. 

No nameless ghosts of people I once loved 
can haunt my buzzing mind with cry of hope 
though planes drop bombs on temple of my fear 
to blast illusions of love to bright dust 
swirling slow in soft breeze of afternoons 
while I still wait in houseless door for you. 

Sweet agony of our forbidden love, 
which fuels my journey to the Promised Land, 
retreats with surging angst of ocean tides 
exposing jagged island of our faith 
as fragile delusion blown lost in wind 
of breathless laughter from celestial will. 

Sour ecstasy of our arrogant love, 
which motivates performance of my role, 
dictates my fate through choices I must make 
in certain fortitude ensconced by fear 
because to walk one path miscalculates 
best of all possible worlds I must seek. 

Stunned by sharp shock of each exploding bomb, 
I wake from disenchanted sleep of death 
to walk the nowhere road of hungry hope 
through smoking ruins of our bombed-out town 
to wonder why God would allow this Hell 
since I now realize Heaven is not real. 

Surprised that I resurrect from my death, 
I float forever in my nothingness, 
surrounded by masks my ancestors wore 
ten thousand years of struggles to survive 
choatic turmoil of each wild world war 
that we survive by planting apple trees. 

Replicate My Soul

Replicate My Soul
© Surazeus
2023 04 18

The humanness that aches inside my bones 
glows out with radiant anguish of pure love 
to light my journey in this world of gloom 
as I replicate my soul in mute clones 
who will never know more than how to rove 
with anxious pleasure for the day of doom. 

Alive with love that screams out sunset flame, 
I trip on devil wings beyond the moon 
to hide in ancient stories people tell 
as we quest for secret of the true name 
bleeding from our eyes of hope all too soon 
for our bodies to ring with the prayer bell. 

Moving my body through the city zone 
farther from my original homeland 
in vain quest to find my lost family, 
I tear weird heart from my blossoming bone 
when no angel wing grows out of my hand 
through fantastic passion of alchemy. 

Outside of language I am wordless wind, 
awake with horror in strange solitude 
that reads my sorrow in the bleeding book, 
till Death takes me to fields where flowers bend 
with naked whispers of our social feud 
contrived by arrogance of the dream cook. 

My heart, as offspring of my hungry soul, 
wants to feel how your body glows with light 
based on unspoken riddles of the fool 
who steals our names so he can play the role 
of national hero who can win the fight 
with rebellious stance against royal rule. 

I know the country of the weeping hills 
where lonely water sings with eager stone 
to build safe island from hopes we may share 
since vibrant flow of wisdom ever fills 
silent valleys with ghosts of Avalon 
who receive nothing for their fervent prayer. 

Still looking now along the forest floor 
for black feather from the dead angel wing, 
body vibrant with voices of the dead 
who linger laughing in the mortal door, 
I gaze at Death with sea-blue eyes of spring 
to see what can exist outside my head. 

So when I behold her beautiful face, 
shining with gold of Venus in the sky, 
I embrace her spirit with loving moan, 
so we share pleasure of creative grace 
that spirals from diamond of the God Eye 
till I wake and find I am not alone. 

While Sadness Walks

While Sadness Walks
© Surazeus
2023 04 17

If the dead leave music behind then why 
do I not hear their voices in the wind? 
While Sadness walks back from the grocery store 
she calls the Bitter Captain on the phone 
but he is standing outside empty church 
giving apples to devils for their guns. 

If the rose I carry steals my true name 
how will the dead call me back to the sea? 
When Sadness runs with wolves in lonely woods 
she sneers at blind god on the mountain peak 
while tearing hate from language by its roots 
so we can grow vines from our rotten hearts. 

If the Oracle of Delphi calls Death 
how will I know the fortune of my fate? 
While Sadness writes love letter to my ghost 
she teaches me weird secrets of the sea 
so I can learn to walk in surging tide 
then blaze ten thousand roads around the Earth. 

If the bridge leads me across the abyss 
will I transform from ape to Superman? 
While Sadness teaches me to measure curves 
she ignores the moon that bleeds in my soul 
with familiar cold of infinity, 
desperate to find shelter in time of war. 

If time surrounds me with desire to love 
how can the dead show me how to live well? 
While Sadness waits for rain that never falls 
she remembers joke the Grim Jester tells 
to fool billions with the beautiful lie 
that faith will resurrect us from the dead. 

If geography is scripture of truth 
then why does consciousness disperse at death? 
While Sadness follows light to Paradise 
she writes our stories in dust of the road 
for all our memories vanish from the world 
unless we encode them in sad folk songs. 

If our stories preserve our mortal souls 
then why are we masked with faces of gods? 
While Sadness tends beehives of secret love 
she writes lost letters with blood to the dead, 
framed by the window of her finite mind, 
about how rivers flow from broken hearts. 

If God exists outside my conscious mind 
why am I only me and no one else? 
While Sadness raises children from her heart 
she teaches them how to describe the dead 
with stories birds sing sixty million years 
till I translate them into cryptic verse. 

So I Open My Eyes

So I Open My Eyes
© Surazeus
2023 04 16

I close my eyes and dream about the world 
that never exists in reality 
because the world will remain as it is 
whether my two eyes are open or closed, 
so I open my eyes with eager faith 
to love everything that always exists. 

Expanding from the singularity, 
the white whole swells from infinite desire 
to express every variable of life 
that fluctuates from possibility, 
so I open my eyes with shock of truth 
that I even exist now here as me. 

Even as my body pulses with light 
of atoms beaming from first flash of time 
I freeze conceptual vision of the world 
in random string of words that you read now, 
so I open my eyes to see time flow 
as singing ghost that mocks my fall in death. 

My mind is haunted by the restless thoughts 
spoken by people who lived before me 
when their faceless ghosts crowd around my soul 
to animate my body with their dreams, 
so I open my eyes to become them 
till I integrate them all into me. 

With every new song I compose with words 
I assimilate both living and dead 
into the virtual dream world of my mind 
as pieces assembling puzzle of me, 
so I open my eyes to organize 
all world myths in new kaleidoscope truth. 

Narcissus stares in mirror of the lake 
to dream water thoughts of fractalized truth 
that reconstruct strange beauty of his face 
till he falls in love with humanity, 
so I open my eyes to see my face 
in face of every human being alive. 

Through inventivity of opaque thoughts 
I build vast empire of the dreamless mind 
with subtle bodacity of desire 
to become the me you think you perceive, 
so I open my eyes of shadow light 
to measure infinity with my brain. 

If God is the sum of what I believe 
then I am now God temporarily 
as random assembly of atom sparks 
that wake in sodden shimmer of my brain, 
so I open my eyes to become God 
glowing with love till I vanish in death. 

Prove The Nonexistence Of God

Prove The Nonexistence Of God
© Surazeus
2023 04 15

The way I imagine the universe 
expands beyond enclosure of my eye 
to lighten beautiful horror of life 
too exquisite for simple rules of chess 
controlling how we grow food from the Earth 
which now proves the nonexistence of God. 

The empty page of the desolate land 
steals names humans apply to its mute hills 
because we prefer to swim in the sea 
though hunger drives us to climb the world tree 
and wave high solemn flag of honesty 
which still proves the nonexistence of God. 

The serpentine longing of angel bones 
motivates my body to journey far 
beyond the bleeding walls of paradise 
each time my crow-winged heart remembers why 
Earth swallows everything into dark soil 
which should prove the nonexistence of God. 

The happy children of the weeping moon 
throw yellow roses at cars on the road 
so they can grow to love the cactus clown 
who never pays his taxes to the king 
while blind prophets watch movies on the screen 
which might prove the nonexistence of God. 

The jester searches outside city walls 
for ideal realm of Alam Al-Mithal 
where all physical limits are removed 
because we can perceive it with our brains 
as similitude of the atom world 
which must prove the nonexistence of God. 

The television manifests my mind 
as endless scenes of dramatic events 
which traps each person in river of time 
and determines strict nature of their fate 
unless we turn the dream medium off 
which may prove the nonexistence of God. 

The mortal man who becomes the storm god 
howls into relentless gusts of desire 
to express riddle of the simple seer 
that whether it will ever bloom or not 
the flower is still the flower of life 
which would prove the nonexistence of God. 

The mother walks across the sunlit lake 
to teach her children secret of desire 
while gazing in oval mirror where souls 
remain forever in radio of light 
to fix how our brains navigate the future 
which dares prove the nonexistence of God. 

The refugees of states controlled by gangs 
follow rivers through rugged mountain range 
with hearts that ache to find the Promised Land 
where every soul can construct with their hands 
world of similitude where our skulls cry 
which will prove the nonexistence of God. 

Children Of The Weeping Moon

Children Of The Weeping Moon
© Surazeus
2023 04 14

These days the children of the weeping moon 
know nothing of the way rainbows express 
religious faith through emptiness of now 
by touching flow of water beyond death 
till names attach themselves to our frail heads 
as if time knows the road we want to walk. 

We stand alone in shadows of dead trees 
just far enough apart to see soft light 
of cold unblinking eyes in silent gloom 
because we understand why wind reveals 
how words in books deceive our eyes with dreams 
that hide the real world we refuse to see. 

Down by the boggy creek of haughty toads 
we run with wild abandon of free arms 
to imitate how fractal ravens fly 
straight through unshattered mirror of desire 
before the second coming of the wolf 
who makes the clown dance in our lonely church. 

Yet every morning on the signless road 
the castle ghost decides what hat to wear 
that best presents the best side of his mind 
because the blue horse in the grocery store 
remembers how nuclear missiles are made 
from bones of angels in the sad mailbox. 

With laughter ringing in the ivory tower 
the children of the weeping moon contrive 
to fool the castle ghost with clever trick 
enough for dancing skeletons to find 
red diamond of his heart on misty moor 
where the blue horse searches for her lost ring. 

So when the wizard toad on mushroom throne 
sings ancient hymn to praise the star-eyed girl 
we gather in the ring of stones at dawn 
to watch the sun explode across the sky 
at sacred moment of eternal now 
when she appears and sings to the Glow Cloud. 

But just as she raises the Holy Grail 
to utter blessing on the broken world 
the hungry clown thrusts spear into her heart 
so our fairy queen screams in agony 
as she lies bleeding in the daffodils 
that drink her blood as wind erases time. 

Alone beside her body on red plain 
I kneel with head bowed in cold silver rain 
till she dissolves into the wordless Earth 
so I still feel her heart beat with hard wind 
as I walk nowhere to the howling sea, 
last soul from children of the weeping moon. 

Goddess Of Boggy Creek

Goddess Of Boggy Creek
© Surazeus
2023 04 14

Grasping book of lies no one wants to read, 
the pilgrim prays all night at Boggy Creek 
for chariot of the gods to take him home 
but the sun rises on him still alone, 
light smearing blood across his long black cloak, 
so he turns grim face to the wilderness. 

Clutching oak trunk in random dizziness, 
the pilgrim walks all day by Boggy Creek 
to search for bones of angels in the mud 
because the only wings that flutter near 
are those of ravens searching for his heart 
that urges him to tame the wilderness. 

Shuddering at memory of dark thunderstorms, 
the pilgrim lost in woods of Boggy Creek 
looks for angry face of God in storm clouds 
but finds no deity staring at him, 
yet still he feels some divine conscious mind 
always judging worth of acts he performs. 

Lured by sweet eerie melody of hope, 
the pilgrim stuck in gloom of Boggy Creek 
struggles through thick obstacles of despair 
to find young woman with long golden hair 
singing hymn of bold faith in sunlit grove, 
face luminescent with heavenly glow. 

Convinced young girl is God in human form, 
the pilgrim kneels entranced by Boggy Creek 
to pray with fervent loyalty of love 
for guidance from the angel with gold hair 
whose blue eyes reflect Eternal Blue Sky 
that fills his dark heart with transcendent joy. 

Astonished by pure wisdom of her eyes, 
the pilgrim bedazzled by Boggy Creek 
opens his heart to voice of the young girl 
who lays hands on his lowly bowed head 
to bless his heart with anguish of true love 
so he proclaims devotion to her cause. 

Wearing laurel wreath she crowns on his head, 
the pilgrim saved from Hell by Boggy Creek 
pledges eternal loyalty of love 
to obey her words in sickness and health, 
then slips on her left hand the wedding ring 
as she proclaims him husband of her heart. 

Heart bound to her in marriage of true minds, 
the pilgrim loves Goddess of Boggy Creek 
who suckles their new-born child at her breast 
while he nurses garden of herbs and worts, 
then tends warm hearth on long cold winter nights 
while she sings hymns, face lit with joyful peace. 

Bones Of Three Angels

Bones Of Three Angels
© Surazeus
2023 04 13

Strutting in the kitchen with salmon feet, 
I find bones of three angels on the desk 
so I construct typewriter from their thoughts 
which flutters on scarlet butterfly wings 
till glass horse in tutu dances ballet 
while trains scream past Heaven of destiny. 

Laughing with cactus in art galleries, 
I breathe myself into another state 
of being beyond ballistic missile bard 
ready to flash with great Godzilla eye 
which illuminates the motionless world 
between soft emptiness of flowing time. 

Collapsing in the hungry hawthorn bush, 
the prizeless prince who eats the cookie moon 
flees with assassin of the lonely heart 
along the curving street of marching rooks 
where the red donkey pulls the apple cart 
past barracks of the weeping radio. 

Tearing black hole in pocket of my pants, 
the naive vampire who falls in hot mud 
steals old castle key with octopus hands 
to move merry metaphysical door 
that traps love mute in book with six goat legs 
when God comes to Earth in the oyster shell. 

Whistling horror tune about Clementine, 
the beautiful chimera with nine wings 
explains secret of maps to the ostrich 
though umbrella angels would occupy 
native land where my ancestors fall dead 
while wearing silk gown to the Christmas prom. 

Leaning against hearth full of angel bones, 
Louis Aragon laughs with my distress 
while handing me silver plate with sheep skull 
till bullets bleed from kaleidoscope eyes 
then blossom into haughty cherry trees 
that close bank teller windows before dawn. 

Laughing at arrogant angels of faith, 
the lamp of Diogenes drinks our blood 
from Holy Grail carved from the cherry tree 
so daughters of the revolution face 
hallucinatory mirror through sponge brains 
stuck full of black pens from feathers of swans. 

Transforming into black doves at midnight, 
Clementine opens windows in the castle 
to better watch ten thousand nuclear missiles 
waltz to elegant music of Mozart 
when rain falls upward back to the Blue Sky 
while I count the angel bones on the desk. 

Zone Of The Anywhere

Zone Of The Anywhere
© Surazeus
2023 04 13

Lost in timeless zone of the Anywhere, 
without mythical map to make sense of Truth, 
I follow path my heart paves from desire 
that merges in the wild on either side 
to find paradise enclosed in stone walls 
that my ancestors built with bleeding hands. 

Awake in weird zone of the Anywhere, 
with vision I assemble from old tales, 
I follow path that foregrounds wordless hopes 
within horizon of the sacred pale 
where we replay our rituals of success 
as actions that energize body souls. 

Bold in twilight zone of the Anywhere, 
with cultural script that codes heroic deeds, 
I follow path as stable interlude 
between episodes of dramatic action 
when I enforce strict law of self-control 
to sustain vibrant force of mental health. 

Cautious in dark zone of the Anywhere, 
with glowing lamp that Lucifer designed, 
I follow dynamic path of ambition 
to wander past static quantum of Time 
in variant progress of continuous growth 
as I transcend myself through soul rebirth. 

Ruthless in vast zone of the Anywhere, 
with ruler measuring geographic space, 
I follow winding path of fortitude 
that never cuts straight across flat landscapes 
in ardent curves around whole spinning globe 
to plant apple seeds on lush river shores. 

Curious in strange zone of the Anywhere, 
with shovel and hammer of clear insight, 
I follow half-seen path of secret lust 
in quest for wiser ways of dwelling here 
on mound I construct to approach Blue Sky 
that collects stormwater in fields of wheat. 

Keen in fuzzy zone of the Anywhere, 
with telescope that sees future events, 
I follow global path of politics 
to investigate weird nature of Nature 
through geopoetic proverbs of candor 
that commission firm stewardship of Earth. 

Clever in war zone of the Anywhere, 
with place-relation of ecopoetics, 
I follow fertile path of honesty 
to organize homes in the urban zone 
which nurtures lifestyle balance between love 
and hunger to evade death with new life. 

As I Keep Walking

As I Keep Walking
© Surazeus
2023 04 12

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the faceless Robot Clown of Leningrad 
shoots apple-seed bullets into my heart 
where they blossom into telephone poles 
that connect our computer server brains 
in vast fantasy world of cyberspace. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the Bearded Viking with the rubber ax 
steals plastic doll from egg of Melusine 
then tries to clamp horse bridle on her face 
but she slithers out of his grasping hands 
so he bumps blind into statue of David. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the Jolly Reaper by Fountain of Youth 
chews ancient story books with vampire teeth 
while screaming at the ever-smiling Mouse 
through fascist megaphone of holy writ 
till Sad Zebra kicks him back in the sea. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the Snarky Pollyanna with three eyes, 
who still loves the Psychopathic Manchild, 
cries for her parents back in her hometown 
killed by missiles from the amusement park 
where the Cheerful Child plots world domination. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the Big Bad God clutches globe of the Earth 
and cackles at harsh suffering of mankind 
while One-Winged Angel in Silver Chair 
tricks him into believing he will rise 
in resurrection from grave of his heart. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the lazy Dungeon Master in the bank 
asks genie in the bottle for world peace 
but the Last Unicorn makes rain fall up 
while the Crusty Caretaker paints rainbows 
for the Blood Countess he will love till death. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the Bourgeois Bohemian with crazy tie 
steals hopes and dreams from the Granola Girl 
who meditates in junkyard of old cars 
to become one mind with spirit of Nature 
till all mountains erode into the sea. 

As I keep walking through the city maze 
the Hardboiled Detective with one hawk eye 
investigates Cassandra to reveal 
how she operates the fake chronoscope 
to organize flow of human events 
which proves that she must be the Chosen One. 

Enthusiasm Of Pure Love

Enthusiasm Of Pure Love
© Surazeus
2023 04 11

Enthusiasm of prophetic vision 
fills me with insight into human nature, 
so I stand on my front lawn in green rain 
and talk with ravens about loyal love 
who give me mushrooms from tombs of dead gods 
which beam first flash of time in my sponge brain. 

Entranced on seat in cavern of illusions, 
I dream evolution of everything 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
to spiral into galaxies of worlds 
where atoms blossom into coils of genes 
that glow with divine consciousness of being. 

How strange to feel myself dreaming alive 
while I gaze deep in Mirror Eye of God 
to see my temporary spirit face 
bloom through each person in my body tree 
as I evolve from fish to wingless angel 
over four hundred million years of lust. 

God is Ideal Human I strive to be 
as I transform through bodies of flesh, 
refining structure of my soul persona, 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to chimp 
to wingless angel who constructs machines 
by which I leap the multiverse of hope. 

Awake before sublime face of the Sphinx, 
floating in timeless meditative trance, 
I gaze through infinite void of her eyes 
to watch epic tale of human life flow 
as we crawl from mute sea up river streams 
to stand on mountain peak of ecstasy. 

Body buzzing with vibrant ache of joy, 
I breathe ethereal spirit of the sky 
to sing rhapsodic hymn of agony 
expressing delirious passion of love 
with jubilation of exultant faith 
that I am me now here on spinning Earth. 

Amazed at beauty of this universe, 
celestial atoms pulsing through my mind, 
I feel bright temporary flare of life 
gleam fulgent with fragile intensity 
for my brief hour through all eternity 
till I vanish in lambent nothingness. 

As spiritual atheist in this cluttered world 
of complex structures woven from taut atoms, 
I surf undulant waves of molecules 
through radiant matrix of our spinning Earth 
to sing alert with Apollonian glee, 
filled with enthusiasm of pure love. 

Ring Of Invisibility

Ring Of Invisibility
© Surazeus
2023 04 10

My heart is stuck in your vending machine, 
so I approach blinding glow of your soul 
that shimmers on the darkest night of rain, 
and fish in tattered pockets for worn coin 
to purchase my heart back from your cold silence, 
but find ring of invisibility. 

With nothing more than ladder and thin string 
I climb Mount Sagarmatha to the moon 
where Ishtar waits for me on feather bed 
to generate body of the First Man 
who tends apple trees in Garden of Eden 
with my ring of invisibility. 

For I have bummed across America 
with not even one old dollar to spare, 
so I pad barefoot in the Parthenon, 
listening to space between each footstep 
till I transcend reality of myth 
to wear ring of invisibility. 

With strange sensation of magnetic fields 
I journey across waste land of the truth 
to find I must build gates of Wonderland 
where I can play King Lear on misty moor 
in weird beauty of the indifferent moon 
that gleams ring of invisibility. 

Awake in fairy glen of Alcatraz, 
ignoring asylum gates of the mind, 
I walk on water home to Avalon 
where skeletons dance on glass ziggurats 
to ask the silver horse why death is pretty, 
then lose ring of invisibility. 

With each lightning strike of divine insight 
that phosphoresces in my spongy brain 
I see whole vision of the multiverse 
as metaphor for how eight billion brains 
perceive our universe in different ways, 
beamed by ring of invisibility. 

So as I lounge by fountain of dead swans, 
strumming Aeolian harp of obvious truth, 
I watch my mother in bright grocery store 
shop for dreams that Merlin forged in Nirvana 
till she disappears in the camera lens 
round as ring of invisibility. 

These blue-green eyes my mother made for me 
perceive white whole that beams from the first flash 
so though I live brief flash of conscious hope 
in vast mindless void of eternity 
I give you my heart with no strings attached 
to my ring of invisibility. 

Begin To Understand Myself

Begin To Understand Myself
© Surazeus
2023 04 09

Though the wanton son sighs laughter of rain 
the ancient ocean eats children of her fear 
because the drunken wolf hates the glass moon 
yet every forgotten slug in the phone 
loves the crayon in engine of the car 
when the tired villain dances in the waves. 

Though the silly tree by the empty church 
longs for justice of the arrogant gun 
the exquisite corpse asks the crow for wine 
yet the charming daughter of the mad king 
finds recording device under the table 
so the queen flies plane to the Land of Oz. 

Though the hungry ruler can measure death 
that bridges hill of hate with hill of joy 
the glass woman throws sunlight at the sky 
yet the lonely jaguar waits in the church 
for the rain to fall upward before dawn 
if we decide to sell our eyes for truth. 

Though the happy giraffe talks to the gate 
about refugees gathered on the beach 
the mouthless jester waits on the spiked chair 
yet the saxophone screams fear into faith 
as if balls will always roll down the hill 
no matter how fast horses run in snow. 

Though madness rushes through fissure of time 
the legless ballerina on the beach 
dances into steel book seeking peace 
yet the apple embedded in her breast 
pulses with commandments of happiness 
to swallow oil of lust with her fish mouth. 

Though the feather bullet of the blind tongue 
pierces silver eye buried in red mud 
the praying mantis loves the baseball bat 
yet daisies blossom from dinosaur bones 
because we all share one imperfect face 
molded from candles made by angry nuns. 

Though the wingless fairies of castle halls 
explain calculus to the antelope 
she walks the signless road past anywhere 
yet crocodiles with typewriters discuss 
how best to build Bridge of Forgetfulness 
in exchange for visas to visit Hell. 

Though the truth about slavery was erased 
from mangled pages of high school textbooks 
she preserves names in clever fairy tales 
yet deathless mother molds my secret face 
from pungent wisdom of the mushroom mind 
so I begin to understand myself. 

Figure Of Light

Figure Of Light
© Surazeus
2023 04 08

Back against cold wall of unspoken truth, 
she covers naked beauty of her soul 
with torn wallpaper to hide how she feels 
as if butterfly wings could hide storm clouds 
till her face disappears into green shade 
when her body becomes figure of light. 

Bare feet nestled in spirit-tickling sand, 
she stands on vast white beach of sparkling waves 
with silk kite dancing on end of the string 
that measures mute wind of her ancient soul 
till her heart disappears into gray mist 
that illuminates her figure of light. 

Ten thousand eyes blazing with holy light 
of stars that spiral from first flash of love, 
she stands before me on this spinning world 
as fragile human woman of soft flesh 
who emanates Sun Spider Goddess soul 
as star mind encased in figure of light. 

Fingers counting writhing rays of sunlight 
that crack infinity with white of dawn, 
she models sphere of Earth with color shapes 
which gleams as apple in her open hand 
when her voice startles me awake from dream 
to perceive her truth in figure of light. 

Face shining with masks of ten billion souls, 
she reveals that all gods and goddesses 
of world cultures are archetypal tropes 
that reflect human personalities 
based on actual human beings who once lived 
as divine spirits in figure of light. 

Awake in meadow of blossoming flowers, 
she stands at still-point of the turning world 
with arms spread wide as angel wings of faith 
to sing heart-aching melody of hope 
that stirs my soul with timeless glow of love 
conjured by her words in figure of light. 

Surprised by joy during dark thunderstorm, 
she shows me vision beaming from her brain 
that projects concept of humanity 
at mindless swirl of atoms which compose 
our bodies part of ever-blooming Earth 
so I perceive her in figure of light. 

Image of Ishtar in conceptual form 
as mortal woman who embodies love, 
she teaches me secret of second birth 
when sperm will fertilize egg with love spark 
that incarnates immortal soul of genes 
so at birth we become figure of light. 

Jester In The Lighthouse

Jester In The Lighthouse
© Surazeus
2023 04 07

The forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
talks to the seagull about naked books 
that fly into the cliff of timeless truth 
to transcend shadow of the corporeal world 
as if the spiritual vision is more real 
because he holds the ruler in his hand. 

Since he renames himself Americus, 
the forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
calls Madame Sosostris on the cell phone 
to ask about the Necronomicon 
but all she loves is her Phoenician sailor 
who returns from the sea after midnight. 

She reads fortune of the protagonist 
to prove without admittance that she loves 
the forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
who visits Jonah at the city gate 
to warn him about the way he might drown 
if he refuses to play chess with Death. 

Somewhere over the rainbow of false hope, 
where small streams of lemonade trickle down 
the Big Rock Candy Mountains of desire, 
the forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
preaches good news about the vampire king 
who promises eternal life in death. 

The forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
rides bicycle in weird sea of timeless light 
while tripping on acid of rye mushrooms 
as laughing psychonaut with thousand eyes 
whose fingers become gold typewriter keys 
that compose computer code of the brain. 

Still wearing new mask of Americus, 
the forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
trudges crowded streets in vast city maze 
with buzzing anguish of anxiety 
to find his own place in society 
before his tongue explodes in rage of words. 

Maintaining complex family life routine, 
safe inside the gated community, 
the forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
attends church from loneliness of the book 
that preserves wisdom in puzzles of truth 
though Snow White gives him an apple to eat. 

Reborn from seed of the crucified god, 
Americus appears as guest of honor 
on the morning talk shows to prove he is 
the forgotten jester in the lighthouse 
who sits by lake of dreams to fish for wealth 
though his teardrops turn into butterflies. 

Spinning Wheel Of My Heart

Spinning Wheel Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2023 04 05

Weaving wisdom from proverbs of sad crones 
with dream-clacking spinning wheel of my heart, 
I redefine strange formula for truth 
by which we calculate the hour of death, 
because the door wind cannot open now 
reveals silver ghosts floating on Star Lake. 

Touching splintered window of grimy glass 
with time-flashing spinning wheel of my heart, 
I stare at roadless hills in purple gloom 
by which he journeyed to the Promised Land, 
because the empty boat on word-black lake 
wants to return home from the Otherworld. 

Still half awake in dark forever night 
with happiness dripping from wrinkled hands, 
I explain to moon raven in the oak 
why my dead mother never understands 
eager hope for wordless beauty of truth 
that drives me to stand blind in the open door. 

Not yet aware of wind dancing in grass 
with shocking anguish of the rain-smooth stone, 
I clutch the last moon-white potato tight 
like holding mane of the galloping horse, 
so hungry I forget clouds know my name 
though I keep searching for the naked sea. 

Watching for the sailing ship made of masks 
with honest laughter of the rain-smooth stone, 
I feel words of the ancient holy book 
writhe quick as spiders clambering over skulls 
through cheerful shadow of the hyacinth 
that blooms from rotten corpse of my true love. 

Adjusting hands of the euphoric clock 
with arrogance dripping from wrinkled hands, 
I measure distance to the Promised Land 
it takes to sail the wide Sargasso Sea, 
grateful for the chance to love the sad fool 
who always gave me apples in the rain. 

Eager to embrace my lover again 
with brain-breeding spinning wheel of my heart, 
I wait ten thousand years in doorless house 
frail as the lost ark on tempest-tossed waves, 
but he never returns with treasure chest 
from his unmarked grave in the Promised Land. 

Depicting souls of children never born 
with rain-beaming spinning wheel of my heart, 
I tend lush garth in mist-veiled Avalon 
that swallows my bones in rain-hungry soil, 
yet dream world revolutionary war 
that burns my sorrows in butterfly smoke. 

Gives Joy Forever

Gives Joy Forever
© Surazeus
2023 04 04

The beautiful thing that gives joy forever 
passes into nothingness of the never 
so I wander in dark bower of dreams 
and sing with agony of sparkling streams 
to breathe despondent hope of gloomy days 
while searching for love in shadowy maze. 

When young girl in torn gown of helpless fear 
calls out strange name Endymion to my ear 
I catch her falling wounded in my arms, 
enchanted by stark beauty of her charms, 
so in safe haven of dark lakeside cave 
I heal her soul with song of the moon wave. 

Nestling her frail body with tender care 
on soft cushion from thick fur of the bear, 
I steer my little boat long quiet hours 
to bear her safe to vine-entangled bowers 
where honey bees escort us to cool hall 
hidden behind sheen of the waterfall. 

While she lies half-asleep beside warm hearth 
I gather fruits and herbs from sacred garth 
to brew sweet honey nectar with mushrooms 
that bloom from corpses of kings in dank tombs, 
then nurse her back to health with juice of love 
as we lounge together in apple grove. 

Each dawn when Iris wakes from hearty sleep 
she strolls like rainbow among grazing sheep, 
but when Zephyrus breaks down garden gate 
she laments unfairness of bitter fate 
for he killed her tribe to make her his bride, 
then runs away in anguished fear to hide. 

But mountain demon with hard cruel eyes 
declares her charges to be wicked lies, 
then claims her father sold her for lush field, 
yet I defend her honor with bronze shield, 
and wield sword to defend her liberty, 
fighting his greed for her right to live free. 

Just as Zephyrus raises sharp sword high 
to thrust avenging blade in my soft eye, 
brave Iris hurls jagged stone at his head 
which cracks his skull so he falls over dead, 
then we embrace with joy of victory, 
making love to cherish our liberty. 

The beautiful thing that gives joy forever 
wakes in eyes of our child whose soul will never 
suffer enslavement from esurient men, 
nor wander homeless in cold misty fen, 
for we gather by warm hearth of our home 
to record our story in family tome. 

Puzzle Of Spiritual Hope

Puzzle Of Spiritual Hope
© Surazeus
2023 04 03

He finds his father washed up on the shore, 
rancid flesh decayed to spiritual hope, 
so he drags his corpse crumbling into gobs 
of disgust over shimmering golden sand 
of silent horror at beautiful glow 
of sunset screaming blood into wild wind. 

With purple wind in his aggressive hands 
he sings wordless angst of spiritual hope 
in strangled language of moon-surging tide, 
yet faceless children chase white butterfly, 
then kneel in splintered light of genesis 
to watch the turtle clamber up soft dunes. 

He hears sweet siren on sharp jagged rock, 
lashed by furious waves of spiritual hope, 
sing heart-enchanting elegy of love 
because we cannot bear to look away 
from indecent tragedy of our lives, 
urged by crippling pain to overcome fear. 

Though his soul is dispersed in swirling mist 
to shroud cold heaven with spiritual hope 
he measures turbulence of endless seas 
through vanishing harmony of strange sounds 
with plans to preserve nothingness of love 
in fractured shelter of collapsing worlds. 

His wordless cry admonishing mute clouds, 
mapped by soft chorus of spiritual hope, 
encompasses our mortal realm of pain 
disbursed as fractal quadrants to reveal 
last cycle of change that dissolves our truth 
too potent to assemble mask of faith. 

With unknown voice in loud chorus of rain 
translating puzzle of spiritual hope, 
which redesigns his social paradigm, 
he chips flint stone into soul-rending blade 
that resembles shape of his time-carved face 
while plotting revolution against hate. 

Grinding wheat to flour in sun-baked clay pot, 
he prepares fresh bread of spiritual hope 
which he eats on small flat-top pyramid 
as sun-sparkling surf cheers slow flight of terns 
till aching sense of his loss scintillates 
breathless gloom of forgotten paradise. 

Ghost of his father rotting on the shore, 
disfigured with rage of spiritual hope, 
resurrects from horror of unknown truth 
to possess his body with spark of faith 
when he sees face of his father appear 
reborn in person of his laughing son. 

Fracture In The House

Fracture In The House
© Surazeus
2023 04 02

Original condition of my soul 
transcends specific details of my being, 
beautiful as ripe apple in the bowl 
that figures graceful motion of the wing 
based on eerie spirit my words express 
to argue through resolve of happiness. 

The person people perceive in my face 
remains ever invisible to me, 
yet I feel joy beyond confines of race 
though I am bound by myths of family, 
so I gaze in truth mirror to assess 
current state of my spiritual progress. 

Confined in stereotype of who I am, 
translated from concept to mortal coil, 
I spring from seed of my mental program 
that serves to contrast my nature by foil 
when I strive in vain to achieve success 
since I create beauty from psychic stress. 

So I prefer to hide behind glass door 
that shields my heart from the authentic fake 
which desperate people purchase from the store 
with secret passion of the chocolate cake 
that leaves me with no real choice but to guess 
how to create truth with the printing press. 

Because I am the fracture in the house 
I give my doppelganger all my wealth 
who resurrects from wonder as my spouse 
whose glowing eyes secure my mental health 
when my mind expands scope of holiness 
with timeless insight of romantic kiss. 

Moist leaves that flutter in the morning breeze 
wake me from shocking simile of death 
to measure false hope through analyses 
proving rainbows percolate conscious breath 
that sparks fractal growth from rich nothingness 
so I compose strict dramas from world mess. 

If I read figure of my mind as white 
I feel peripheral blankness I define 
radiate from unknown center of pure light 
with telescopic framework of the line 
arranging virtual facts through emptiness 
that grows and dies in fertile righteousness. 

Two fragile figures clothed in subtle thoughts 
submerge their oblique passion in star lake 
so we mutate farmers to astronauts 
trained to discern the real authentic fake 
which can never account for loneliness 
since all we have to give is tenderness. 

Gold-Eyed Female Demon

Gold-Eyed Female Demon
© Surazeus
2023 04 01

Trapped in dream state of sleep paralysis 
beneath liquid shadow of stark moonlight, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of love 
looming over fragile flame of my soul, 
black wings of dour cherubic arrogance 
compressing my morose mind with despair. 

Though frightened with grim cimmerian dread 
as I float paralyzed in stygian gloom, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of faith 
reach shadow hands into my pulsing heart, 
fascinated by dismal sentiment 
of loving terror clutching my frail soul. 

Struggling in vain to wrench myself awake 
with silent screaming rage against mute fear, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of hope 
twist my taut caliginous mind in coils 
of sinister desire to extricate 
my naked memory from her hungry need. 

Still half awake in crepuscular ethos 
as darkling gnome with sullen countenance, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of trust 
rip spooky anguish of aphotic doubt 
from blood-stained tendrils of my rancid brain 
till empty of despair I burn with hubris. 

Embraced by ravenous lust of disdain 
with petulant revulsion for her need, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of grace 
drag my languid physique of lassitude 
from suffocating shadow of my mind 
though I attempt to spread my crippled wings. 

Emerging from hyper-vigilant state 
of feeling vulnerable to fierce attack, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of light 
hover writhing over my rigid soul, 
immobile with turbulent leap of faith 
as I surge howling blind against my mind. 

Distraught with hysterical hope for freedom 
with fierce phrenetic flight from hectic hate, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of truth 
liberate my mind from anguish of shame 
as my concerned wife with alarmed embrace 
wakes me from dream of sleep paralysis. 

Free from dream state of sleep paralysis 
in safe haven of my connubial home, 
I sense gold-eyed female demon of love, 
embodied by soul of my nuptial mate, 
console my traumatized soul with kind words 
as I gaze in caring glow of her eyes.