Grim Peat-Bog Devil © Surazeus 2026 03 01 When grim peat-bog devil with fox-red hair crawls from black clay-ensouled mud of the marsh, Seamus welcomes her with bottle of rum, drapes silk cloak over her shoulders with care, and leads her to lit auditorium where he plays jester to her regal queenship. Since I am neither god nor ghost at birth, I wander virtual city of your tales with jeweled eyes of understanding rage that see through masks the most powerful wear as they condemn outsiders from their club to slave in factories of clanking steel. Purring ghosts of love rise with burning blood from machinery of language that twists tongues with rogue substitutions of natural law when strong men fearful of obsessive death hunt to kill wanderers in misty woods who stumble and scream in anguish of hope. Heart hardened against cruelty of life, I snarl insults at monsters of despair, detained by performative callousness when I suppress compassion for frail life that struggles weakly against stronger force to evade degradation of the soul. Unversed in country matters of field life, I mold sunset glow into bricks of faith to build safe haven in dark tangled woods with chimney that channels smoke of our prayers to heaven where Faceless God of old tales ignores desperate hope for the Afterlife. Through fractured window of my wordless heart crows swoop on devil wings of honesty to bring purple-brain mushrooms from boglands which I eat soaked in honey of respect till I become coiled rainbow of brave angst howling with wild wolves in the twilight zone. Since we dwell in troubled ambivalence, uncommitted to mindless creeds of church, we explore uncanny landscape of ghouls wearing human faces that grin with lies, malnourished from harshness of eager hope which calculates effective cause to perform. If I am born from mind-controlling force and squirm squalling into hands of regret, first mother of gloom cries to feed me milk as prideful authority hurls my soul back into vast illegitimate sea where I morph into Mermaid Bride of Christ.
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, March 1, 2026
Grim Peat-Bog Devil
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Orpheus and Seamus drink beer in the pub, then sing old folk songs about the ancient bog people who ran wild as wolves in misty woods.
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