Church Of The Fisherman © Surazeus 2024 06 25 Although my heart is the lightbulb of faith we think we are but laughter of the sea so someone on the street corner decides to paint the face of the goddess of love with blood of pears on glass door of the bank because we overhear what the ghost says. The red car that cannot control the sky gives tattered paperback novels of crime to poor people always standing in line to ask for currants from the fisher king who hides, in air-conditioned office, time that falls in snowflakes from the mask of death. Worshipped by agents of the mystery cult, gray-stone idol of Janus rides the swan in solemn pageant on the boulevard where thousands of nameless princesses died while waiting for the turtle god to laugh as the handless king plays the mandolin. This music creeps by me on water flash with symbolic value of the sea change my heart undergoes with exploding words that helps me glimpse another better world not debased by doctrine of the mad fool who climbs telephone poles to steal our dreams. When I enter church of the fisherman I hear riddles in what the thunder says to translate murmur of the evening mist to maternal lamentation for how our souls vanish in ether of the mind beneath the burning tower of the saint. I will marry the Lady of the Rocks who gives plates of food to the homeless souls dwelling in subway tunnels underground where Persephone gives them telephones so they can call God in the afternoon when the drowned Phoenician sailor drives home. To find deserted cabin on the beach that shines white with ancestral theme of faith I follow darting sparrow from my tomb, intent on learning how the seasons change when cold wind chills the water-sparkling sand in empty darkness of the pulsing brain. Though whiteness grows more vivid on the wall where travelers write their true names with blood I cherish solitude of signless roads that lead forever onward to the past through revolutions when all monarchs fall with my hand pointing to the labyrinth.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus visits the Lady of the Rocks where she works as the secretary at the church of the fisherman.
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