Temporary Gods Of Flesh

Temporary Gods Of Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Three ways blind angels know our death is soon 
tricks me to wander thoughtlessly alone, 
but since I see your face in the bright moon 
I leave last pear of my heart on your stone 
that never rolls up or down at my word, 
therefore I conclude that life is absurd. 

The ancient bearded bard with broken harp 
still lingers manic in the happy field 
while cradling with care gold comatose carp 
that leads me to buried Achillean shield 
depicting how citizens of the world 
pray for third coming of the cosmic herald. 

Medusa calls me on the telephone 
so I attend her late-night singing show 
where she plays mirror of the psychic clone 
whose proverbs teach the spirit how to grow 
till cute Cheonyeo Gwishin with purple eyes 
recruits me to join her squadron of spies. 

She wants to ask me why she is not here, 
but words that drip from moist clam of her mouth 
transform to lizards lured by bitter fear 
that mutate problem of evil to faith 
since we are temporary gods of flesh 
with brains that store their memories in dream cache. 

Medusa asks me if I want to kiss 
so we embrace with passion of the snake 
that tricks Eve into wanting homelife bliss, 
though social role she plays is never fake, 
despite how industry consumes tall trees 
as paper money we use to pay fees. 

Since we compete in endless psychic game 
by chanting spells in church of prophet bards, 
we find our souls trapped by oppressive fame 
as social heroes who must hire tough guards 
since farmers are foundation of the state 
whose struggles define our national fate. 

As fugitives from language of the heart, 
we tangle bodies in ballet of hope 
through algorithm hidden on the chart 
favored by survivors who learn to cope 
with exploitation our spirits endure, 
till Jesus arrives on snake-horned markhor. 

One hundred thousand poets recite spells, 
while gathered round fountain of the town square, 
which conjure demons from aesthetic wells 
to win song contest at Scarborough Fair 
over whose poetic vision best depicts 
real world we perceive on the River Styx.