Bowls Of Sweet Tears

Bowls Of Sweet Tears
© Surazeus
2025 05 03

When he breathes scent of the corporeal ghost 
stuck in time capsule of the widowed oak, 
he wades into river of bloody oil 
to ask the salmon in their dialect 
how many bridges arch across its flow 
with intimate knowledge of the burger joint. 

Young girls from high school by the boiling lake 
dance laughing around the wood matriarch, 
each wearing cute pinafore dress she sewed 
from threads of sorrow that unwind their hearts 
when they give their children apples to eat 
though they were maimed by empire bombs of greed. 

Our mutual disappointments ricochet 
across glass sky of white supremacy 
in game of domination angels play 
through puppets they construct from bones of gods 
conducive to the nurturing of souls 
with fierce capacity to love the world. 

Bright tulips bloom from brains of weeping clowns 
who write surreal novels of country life 
about construction workers who rebuild 
temples in Heaven destroyed by dream bombs 
deployed by businessmen in pinstripe suits 
to invest in stringent idolatry. 

Gazing at Heaven with wide hopeful eyes, 
zombies hungry for brains pray to the king 
who stomps on flowers and sprays honeybees 
while strangers gather in the empty house 
to hide their memories of futile lives 
in abstract paintings hanging on the walls. 

Since I regret the way I hurt your heart 
I let you live in my dreams with your horse 
so we can sing sorrowful psalms of faith 
while everything we hold as good and true 
keeps vanishing from pictures on the wall 
so we give each other bowls of sweet tears. 

Glass mountains, all wrinkled with craggy cliffs, 
regard my sorrow with indifferent wind 
so I join my friends under glowing clouds 
to drink and shout with joyful angst of fear 
till we are bones that form the mountain range 
as dancing skeletons of humble faith. 

Untouched divinities of whispered love 
progress with slippery dance of urgent hope 
to release the corporeal ghost of time 
from fractured mirror of the sunlit mind 
so we share ripe apples we steal from God 
who joins us for the feast before we die.