Our Red-Haired King © Surazeus 2023 05 18 Because I go to see our red-haired king who rules America now in exile, the cow in the meadow where sparrows sing asks me to conceal her nuclear stockpile, so I ride blind mule to Jerusalem to confiscate the jeweled diadem. Supreme powerlessness of nuclear waste wakes eunuch of time from his pleasant dream that he builds paradise for the displaced where Clementine swims the Mexican stream to dance with joy the morning after woe, surpassing mute despair with starless glow. Though birds declaim sad tunes in naked trees and hammers ring clear litany of wealth we scratch dry dirt for lost celestial keys that open gates of Heaven with cruel stealth to break free from this state of victimhood glorified by moguls of Hollywood. With glee from horror of considerate Death we sing with birds that weep hot tears of oil till we invent new god from divine breath who springs full-grown from corpses in foul soil at dance macabre on resurrection day that never comes though we cease not to pray. When fascists clutching guns decide to fight to impose martial law on Liberty we shatter their illusions with the light that glows pure from heart of democracy though blood of innocence will soak the land to transform waste land into Wonderland. Human grief finds no sympathy in Nature for she cares not about our fights for power except how she nurtures soul of the creature who sings with joy at vision of the flower that blossoms into fruit on Tree of Life with energy we rein to control strife. Sweet nonsense of the joke we find not funny wakes ancient sorrow in our hopeful hearts to fight for liberty when times are sunny since our red-haired king sells apples from carts, so we hail coming of messiah sleuth whose comic riddles encode bitter truth. I chase our red-haired king on motorbike to paparazzi photos of his bride whose Kali-flashing eyes are always like gaze of Liberty for the countryside where children fight to survive global war as wizards shop the late-night grocery store.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Thursday, May 18, 2023
Our Red-Haired King
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