Houses Of Our Bones © Surazeus 2025 01 26 We make beautiful houses of our bones so we can hide from mental predators in shelters camouflaged with broken limbs that fall from the Tree of Knowledge at dawn cracked by mocking storm of arrogant lies till we all get jobs as government spies. We are the only people in the world hiding wings in our lungs with special care, safe in grass of Mount Moriah with goats who teach us how to talk about our souls discarded with trash in the wordless wells stuck in dictionaries our pastor sells. We build tables from tombstones of dead gods so we can feast on fruits our labor yields in middle of the city where Death waits for everyone to leave church after noon where Gorgon asks Perseus on a date so he decides to go along with fate. We refuse to howl at the end of time, stuck in the chapel by the lake of fish, yet sing in harmony with whistling trains that make the world shudder when they pass by the cemetery where corpses emerge, resurrected through the government purge. We give each other presents filled with air so we appreciate the nothing of death based on treasures in attic of the mind we find and sell to strangers passing by while lounging on the front porch of our home and ponder this urge to go out and roam. We splinter our souls against wall of pride, attempting to assimilate our souls with strangers in the land of laughing clowns who walk their dogs in river parks all day as bombs destroy the homes where we once played and disassemble brains of those who stayed. We cook our memories at the barbecue inside the palace of one thousand rooms to worship idol of the noble boy who sacrificed himself to save the world which leaves him hanging on electric pole because anybody can play his role. We discover many ways to perceive multiple aspects of one spinning globe since there are many ways to analyze secret meaning of most common events which code the blues to cure our loneliness for all must cross Bridge of Forgetfulness.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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Sunday, January 26, 2025
Houses Of Our Bones
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Orpheus invites the souls of the dead to his barbecue in the fields of Elysium where they drink dandelion wine and dance in Stonehenge.
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