Wild Angel Of Fate © Surazeus 2024 12 01 I should not barter wisdom with the dead but I want to know the right road to take to escape slaving for my daily bread, to wrestle with fear for one slice of cake, or then I shall walk down the empty road to meditate with the hypnotic toad. Reluctant angel of the fallen state misleads my journey to the Promised Land by selling tickets to the Pearly Gate which I cannot open with fleshy hand, so I build log cabin on the river shore and hang holly wreath on red-painted door. Extending arms to embrace empty sky, I soar into bright clouds on devil wings to find palace of God and ask him why Death translates pain to pleasure when she sings, but he hurls me wingless back down to Earth where I calculate what made things are worth. Dressed in my dapper suit at gleam of dawn, I ride the trolley up the hill to work where I pretend I am not obedient pawn programmed to patrol streets where angels lurk, all to maintain rules by order of law where ravens on taut telephone lines caw. When I corner the thief by the locked door, who steals stale bread for his children to eat, he mocks the world order of bank and store that exploits the farmer destroyed by sleet, for gangsters rule each level of the state, enforcing power to control our fate. Rich gangsters in state offices of power are just as ruthless as thugs in the street, for each one asserts right to tax the flower by using threat of suffering to defeat rival gangs controlling brief lives of men in harsh money war that no one can win. Pretending I got lost in alleyways, I let the desperate bread-winner escape, but, as I wander crowded city maze, begin to wonder who rules the mindscape, and who creates things with their humble hands, the carpenter, or the king with demands. Sticking to my job for the city bank, I investigate status of cash loans, eager to climb the bureaucratic rank by wearing shaman mask and clacking bones, so with power I can improve the state by gambling with the wild angel of fate.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, December 1, 2024
Wild Angel Of Fate
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Orpheus finds work at the city bank of San Francisco in 1884 as a loan assessment officer who aspires to run for mayor to improve the lives of everyday working men.
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