Puzzle Of The Mind Clock

Puzzle Of The Mind Clock
© Surazeus
2023 11 20

Strange as it may seem, wings of my wild heart 
are strengthened by correlation of pain 
with each conceptual wave of thought control 
that radiates from core of the World Egg, 
so I dream complex course of my weird life 
till I wake at dawn after stormy night. 

Whatever whispers of the midnight wind 
I think I hear from hollow of cold night 
confuse my heart with visions of despair 
shattered by calm peace of blue morning glow 
that disperses fear into butterflies 
so I know for sure I am not yet dead. 

Three times in freezing nothingness of gloom 
I hear soul-piercing shriek of the blind owl 
call my name through the howling of old trees 
who seem to understand how strange I feel 
at mocking laughter of the open book 
when its pages flap wildly in green wind. 

Kneeling before small heap of rotting pears, 
lungs filled with pungent scent of wordless rage, 
I long for wisdom of the broken rock 
to explain again clear fountain of hope 
that springs from bottomless abyss of love 
with rich expression of the broken tree. 

Strange as it may seem, the world falls apart 
with gleeful laughter of the childish rain 
who designs machines which run on petrol 
that bubbles from the alabaster keg 
through well of wealth owned by the lonely wife 
who writes love letter on the tattered kite. 

Whatever provides measurement to bend 
fabric of space through time composed of light 
that flashes from the ladder of elsewhere 
explains absurdity for those who know 
answers to these riddles clowns advertise 
as sacred wisdom embodied by bread. 

Three times in shocking whiteness of my room 
I hear the arcane verse of Robert Lowell 
read by suave robot in red silk chemise 
ten thousand years after Fate spins her wheel 
enough times to inspire the haughty cook 
who knows the right messenger he should send. 

Kneeling in Cave of Illusions with bears, 
hands clutching magic mushrooms on world stage, 
I analyze puzzle of the Mind Clock 
that dangles from Heaven on the gold rope 
I grip with desperation of the glove 
because through nonchalance I will live free.