Since We Lose Our Faces © Surazeus 2025 12 22 Rain plinks on fractured eyeballs of the Earth since we lose our faces in window panes gray with sorrow that children give to ghosts who haunt unopened doorways of this house where our clothes walk around without our souls though we keep pennies in pockets of hope. We heap our memories on clean dinner plates to feast on laughter of forgotten days that slither away with reptilian angst to hide in shadow of the moaning desk and chew on language of conceptual keys adjacent to uncalculated faith. Calcified thoughts based on acrylic funds amend assembled puzzles with regret despite adhesive truths we fear to share through fraught disclosures elder gods require to join our fellowship with honest lies integral to unpublished revenues. Temporal project to assert agency through taxable salvation we acquire presents new opportunities to play suburban superman for common folk who ask for summary of our services based on statistics that prove our success. If the mute moon of my fake paradise convicts my heart of absence without joy, I shall become the bird of distant hills who brings delicious fruit to window sills where faces of children behind glass glow because they live inside my humming brain. Alone in back yard of strange memories, she draws beams of light to reflect weird trees that give her sweet fruit woven from sunlight so she can understand with subtle grin what birds on the phone lines gossip about, yet wanders enthralled in the endless house. Perhaps kind robots, that wear mirror masks instead of human faces torn by fear, decide to replace our bodies with code which spiral diagonal hurricanes through mind-expanding walls of empty homes, or else we could never play chess with Death. Our homes float high on restless wind of truth, disentangled from roads that lead nowhere because we forget to number each door which prevents ghosts from haunting our lone hours as we slouch bored at tables without books that preserve faces we try to reclaim.
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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Monday, December 22, 2025
Since We Lose Our Faces
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Orpheus walks around the world and knocks on every door to return the faces people lost so they can start to live as their real selves again.
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