Paint My Paper Face © Surazeus 2024 10 29 The red sun beats upon the pavement slab with all the subtle grace of hammer hope preached by the scammer in the crowded church to lonely zombies searching for the truth that drips from their limp hands as jelly slime, so I hide bright soul with my paper face. This heart-encroaching angst of city streets still numbs my aching body with desire to crawl into the dead tree in the park and talk with crows about the demon mind that gurgles oil-thick in sponge of my brain and seeps through paper face hiding my soul. Harsh grumbling growl of motor engines buzz disturbing vibes in fractured skull of juice that helmets deity stuck in my brain writhing crab-twisted in tangle of thoughts with muffled bonking deep in foggy words mucked with visions of the paper-faced god. So one step forward on hard cement way I force extension of my rubber soul, wrapped taut with tension of unsymboled lust forward over rough obstacles of faith, to walk from my house to the grocery store beyond paper-faced walls of memories. So when you call me on the telephone I answer with the name my brain devised to fool Death with shadow of happy fear, yet I can barely hear your crackled voice from distant valley of the laughing bones because my paper face flaps in the wind. Insistent explanations of my strength of courage to perform expected role bunch crowd of breathless words refidgeted in graceful flow of sentient awkwardness so I despair that no one understands vivid flare of thoughts on my paper face. Performing normal routine of events in rituals to contain chaos of hope, I stand before glass door of timeless trust to open candor wide of changeless wait so I can enter cool domain of dreams enclosed in fragments of things I could buy. Purchasing milk, eggs, butter, bread, and faith, I swipe thin credit card of honesty and walk outside with plastic bags of love to glare at red sun of blind travesty, then hurry home on nervous doe-thin legs to eat fried eggs and paint my paper face.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, October 29, 2024
Paint My Paper Face
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Orpheus describes to Ophelia his epic quest to the grocery store in the kaleidoscope city of undulating concepts.
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