Heap Of Broken Images

Heap Of Broken Images
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

November may be the happiest month, 
crushing lilacs back into the dead land, 
confusing memory of beautiful times 
with desire to live beyond nothingness, 
and rotting roots with endless freezing rain, 
so I sip coffee on wet porch of faith. 

This good Earth covered by forgetful snow 
feeds passion for life with harvested fruit 
that wrinkles in old rumbling fridge of fate, 
so I think back to summer days of yore 
when I hitchhiked across the evening land 
to play guitar near locked churches and banks. 

So I return to rugged mountain range, 
where snow-frosted Chicoma Mountain glows 
scarlet rose at the timeless sunset hour, 
to walk with nameless woman of the woods 
who shows me heap of broken images 
that once idolized mortal men as gods. 

My shadow strides behind me in bright woods 
where I sit high on red rock of respect, 
and contemplate in mountain-stillness air 
obsessive greed of humans to control 
mineral resources of treasureful Earth 
that bloom as hyacinths in the waste land. 

While striding red hills of New Mexico 
where ravens flock in ponderosa pines, 
I never find that famous clairvoyante, 
Madam Sosostris, with her star-black eyes, 
who deals her wicked pack of cards to show me 
the Lady of the Rocks of Mont Sainte-Baume. 

I find I am the Hanged Man with one eye 
based on the horoscope she reads for me 
to prove my father once ruled Avalon 
with four-wheeled wagon of the jeweled crown, 
so I sail west across the storm-wracked sea 
to find Atlantis green in swirling mist. 

When I sprout from lush garden of dead gods 
to walk with office workers and bank clerks 
across the stone Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
I pause at dead stroke of the corporate clock 
to dream when I built sturdy river boats 
and sailed to build world empire on my map. 

Alert on beach below enormous cliffs, 
I play endless chess game of life with Death 
whose beautiful demonic face gleams gold 
in flicker of the pale fluorescent light 
that luminates the vanished sylvan scene 
where I hold skull of Hamlet in my hand.