Ten Thousand Crows © Surazeus 2023 07 15 When ten thousand crows fly up in the sky I think they all become the words I speak, so I hold apple up to block the sun till both apple and sun become my brain that tries to remember why we feel hope though all my nameless crows fall into graves. I sit on eyeball of the universe to examine sadness of endless light that make crystal bones of my skeleton glow with words that children want to speak as they look down at their Earth-dusty feet and think about places they want to go. Asleep in shadow of the fractured moon, I eat the crow that was fried over flames that writhe from burning bush on Mount Sinai because I want to run faster than wolves who wear business suits and drive to the bank where they buy and sell feathers of sad crows. I follow the moon crow with thirteen eyes into the ruined temple on the mount where eyeless sages in blood-striped robes pray to ancient statue of Cronus the Mad who holds the broken lyre of Mercury strung taut with tangled memories of his heart. When water boils in cauldron of despair Cerridwen cooks stew from my soggy brain to feed me Awen of the screaming moon so I hop laughing in the ring of stones to flap my phantom wings of aching pain till I wake up as serpent in the grass. But when Taliesin names me Creirvia I run down to the river of lost dreams where the laughing crow gouges out my eye till I rip out my heart with grasping hands so she escapes on thirty moon-black wings as she becomes ten thousand crows who sing. Each cocky crow with insolent respect that breaks free from impudent cage of hope finds another grave where I will die, so I follow them all around the Earth to leave another fragment of my soul as apple seed in valley of cracked skulls. I leave ten thousand children of my heart in every valley of the spinning world where they look up at glowing clouds of faith and see my faceless soul gaze down at them for they are crows who blossom from my eggs as words that spring from quagmire of my brain.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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