Roads Unwinding Time

Roads Unwinding Time
© Surazeus
2024 12 14

Not at the kitchen table do I wait 
for roads unwinding time back to the sea, 
yet I smear dreams of my despair in books 
to forget losing everyone I know 
to silence on the plain of everywhere, 
so we can now pretend we do not care. 

Not in the crowded church of blinded gods, 
where screaming angels crash into the truth, 
do I express concern for broken hearts 
when people whine about the cruel wrongs 
they must endure to earn the sacred right 
to enter Heaven of amusement parks. 

Not in the theater of the absurd, 
where mortal humans wear the masks of gods, 
do I write secrets in the book of lies 
concerning how grandmother bakes her pies 
for happy orphans driving country roads 
to escape mentality of the herd. 

Not in the marble bank of humble wealth 
do I know how to calculate may fate 
in terms of fruit seeds buried in the dirt 
which sprout into trees where dollar bills grow 
so everyone in the world can be rich, 
and no one has to work hard anymore. 

Not in the old house do I find your ghost 
performing ritual of the sacrifice 
while mopping blood of devils from the floor 
who always come over for cake and tea 
disguised as housewives of Beverly Hills 
who sell their children to the corporate kings. 

Not in the senate chamber do I vote 
for cute illusion of America 
where everybody lives under the law 
with equal rate of liberty for all 
so angry boys no girls will ever date 
kill haughty students in high school they hate. 

Not in the museum of long-dead gods, 
who walk around in bodies of foul saints, 
do I consider nature of the mind 
as function of consciousness in the brain 
that vanishes to nothing when we die, 
yet you remain the apple of my eye. 

Not in the forest of the dancing wolf 
do I respect the claims of mortal men 
that they own rights to resource of this land 
for we are transient flames of conscious hope 
that flutter lightly in vast time and space, 
hoping to photograph god with no face.