Mad Prophet Of Fame © Surazeus 2024 03 30 Gold sun that gleams in oaks of my backyard plays tricks on flashing circuits of my brain that sparks bright timeless hour of my childhood fifty one years ago when I was eight living in the small hilly Texas town haunted by blind ghost of the cowboy clown. That world of hippies and the Vietnam war that gleams around me in the cars and trees has vanished in daze of the purple haze to nothing more than television show children watch on Saturday afternoon that documents the prophet troubadour. Long after ghost of the prophet passed by along the railroad tracks outside of town, toting guitar forged by devils of Hell into machine that kills fascists and fools, I follow with my red guitar painted black to sing at dawn on Miami beach sand. Awake with spirit of the rolling stone that animates the mad prophet of fame, I stand on street corners in nameless towns on lonesome highways sea to shining sea and sing the sorrows of the aching heart that tumbles from sore hands of Sisyphus. When I arrive with lyre of Mercury to face three-headed demon of my fear, I tell the girl riding carriage of Death that I have come to rescue her from Hell, so she requests I sing uncanny spell that helps her follow Light of Liberty. Driving my long green Mercury sedan from maze of Manhattan through fields of wheat, high over Rocky Mountains past the moon, I glide along faded Oregon Trail to star in movies down in Hollywood with shy daughter of Marilyn Monroe. Performing folk songs in the circus tent with the blind midget and the bearded lady, I sing ancient tales of heroes and kings who sail for home lost on the wine-dark sea to folk in cowboy hats and gingham skirts who pray for salvation from nuclear bombs. Sitting on back porch in hill town of Athens, I play guitar and make up new folk songs about lost people of America while mad robin I named Achilles pecks at locked chamber door of Charles Baudelaire who drives white pickup to fish at the lake.
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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