Never Take Us Home © Surazeus 2025 03 15 Though I could try to believe anything I prefer to measure reality with objective words I steal from the moon by speaking thoughts the trees breathe out as air which translates firmament of crystal eyes to furrowed fields where wheat sprouts from our skin. Strange stories we bake in memory bread contain sufficient formulas to cheat how fast we drive on lonely country roads that never take us home to that weird place where we fool ourselves we may still belong till radios scream conspiracy theories. Regret for how my arrows pierce my back blinds me to snide disdain of river stones who declare with loud laughter of dark waves that the world will end in both fire and ice though we tell the old television set why we want to drive to the waterfall. Shocked in candle-lit room of oblivion, I pretend I have never been awake enough to taste the phosphorescent bulb that floats above my castle built of sand despite waves of distraction that confuse people who think their dreams never come true. Yet I will climb the ladder to the sky so I can find palace of crystal eyes where God sits on fake throne of dragon skulls watching me bumble along my life path with no direction home beyond the bus till I fall asleep under apple boughs. I refuse to rub strangeness from my sight since I break the fragile plate of smeared ice by talking to the bashful river naiad whose star eyes magnify my mushroom mind with vital flecks of hungry apple seeds while I trace shadows of falling asleep. This land of river vales was never mine but I have always belonged to the land wherever I have walked ten thousand years so I possess the lonely apple tree to earn salvation of the baptized clown because I think I am the star-blind seer. I find no salvation of holy truth while walking signless road across the land to build the shining city on the hill that must be Camelot of glamored myths where my ancestors danced each summer eve to bind their bodies with red thread of fate.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Translate
Saturday, March 15, 2025
Never Take Us Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Orpheus drives the station wagon on the country road in West Virginia that takes him home to the place where he belongs.
ReplyDelete