Saturday, November 30, 2024

Hall Of Your Skulls

Hall Of Your Skulls
© Surazeus
2024 11 30

When I wake in cold barren hall of stone, 
I find my body is soil of the land 
tangled thick with herbs, vines, bushes, and trees, 
then drink from quick-flowing stream of my spine, 
my eyes as turtles, and my hands as birds, 
wrecked disarrangement of the gardener. 

When I stand up trembling in hall of glass, 
I breathe cracked granite cliff of mountain wind, 
bones rumbling in earthquake of my hot breath, 
heavy with boulders tossed by ocean waves 
which batter my body with arrogance, 
impossible disbursement of thick words. 

When I crawl heaps of books in hall of wood, 
I flutter wings of expanding desire, 
reshifting landscapes of cluttered-street towns 
that crumble from relentless hurricanes 
of wretched laughter at absurdity 
contrived by angels trying to build worlds. 

When I expand my soul in hall of masks, 
I replicate endless copies of self 
sewn from vibrating threads of psychic spells 
taut with intention to contaminate 
pure silt-shifting lake that swallows my dreams, 
yet reflects souls of people I invent. 

When I expel gloom from hall of contempt, 
I stretch old mangled body of dry hills 
along rugged coast of the sparkling sea 
where drowning mermaids sing forgotten names 
to resurrect confederacy of fools 
interned in valley of our laughing skulls. 

When I drift numb in hall of innocence, 
I become pregnant with billions of souls 
who crawl in tunnels of my milk-thick breasts 
then dance with ecstasy of aching hearts 
in gleaming moonlight of my watching eye 
till their bodies sink back into my pores. 

When I carve names in hall of marble walls, 
I wear mask of each human who has lived 
to experience each life ten million years 
who chase the sun to the end of the world 
as their bodies merge in children of hope 
and multiply again into one me. 

When I fall asleep in hall of your skulls, 
I dream creation of the universe 
when the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
to weave our lonely planet from star light 
so you and I can meet this fateful hour 
to sing together with love in our tower. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus wanders forever in museum hall, wearing the faces of every soul who has ever lived to experience their entire life and death.

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