Lush Gardens Of Byzantium © Surazeus 2026 06 25 Safe in lush gardens of Byzantium where sunlight molds our bodies into souls, I name the secret children of the world to honor faceless ghosts of nevertime who play among the apple trees till dusk when they return to sleep in blackened stones. Trapped in epiphany of timeless truth, I walk into dark forest of my heart to gather memories kind people lost and store them in glass treasure house of fate so wanderers may choose which ones to buy when silver fish explain the trick of why. Gold sun glimmers sweetly through gentle trees to highlight reasons for the dead to dance though some prefer to scream into the void while others laugh with bitter joy at death to prove we know why television tubes provide base for Buddha to meditate. Relaxed on fractured stone of pulchritude, I analyze each diachronic change in argument structure of mental verbs composing process of determined hope based on weird coding patterns of concern through cognitive mechanisms of faith. Engaged in the transformation workshop, I focus fierce attention of my brain on staging solemn ritual of despair that mocks obsessive theory of concern devised to widen scope of consciousness since death circles back with formal technique. I never understand words people say when they express concepts of ocean waves that murmur softly over golden sand when all peaceful beings of the world unite as rainbow family in the national park where preachers and jesters compete for power. No one may judge my skill at flattery since I lounge languidly on wood-ship deck with passionate respect for mindless breeze that fills aching emptiness of my heart with factual statements about faceless gods who laugh embarrassed I do not believe. Thus I fill chalice of our global heart with pungent liquor of sweet petrichor which melts taut stiffness of my mental state enough to shelter lonely refugees who share fake memories stored in new books that lead our journey to where blind devils live.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus sells books of false memories to people who attend his poetry readings in university bookstores across the land as he searches for Minerva.
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