Tall Tree Of Ignorance © Surazeus 2026 11 04 My feelings are no mountains of the moon, yet rivers swell from earnest praise of stones who hide opinions of angelic clown too hungry for unbaked bread of surprise because all houses on the country road burn from strange laughter of sad pyramids. House of my body stretches wings of hope so I can fly above vast town of graves where mothers gripping bayonets of faith make talismans for children without eyes who steal jobs in the county government by getting tattoos of uncertain gods. Words burst from perfect eggs of solitude to track quick revolution of our globe around three suns of happy carnivals where elves hold weddings always at midnight for twenty centuries of rocking cradles despite how often halls of fate collapse. Though we hold hands with loyalty of fear to gather plums in rockets of contempt, we cross old covered bridges every dawn where leaves of spirits flutter in cold breeze, so we pause in mid-flurry of shocked truth to take cute selfie of our twisted souls. So when blonde girl in yellow dress of pride gives me old record-player made of glass, we sit together on broken stone wall, pretending we still live in paradise where everyone operates their own store along the river boulevard of fate. Still wearing dress her mother sewed from rage, she plays atonal melodies of faith on glass piano forged from meteor tears, awake with thrilling ecstasy of love that no one else but us can understand as secret we share in the crowded church. Soft steps of urgent innocence extend harsh laughter of the weeping telephone clutched by last angel of forever now whom darkness fleshes real from ocean sand as truth contained in letters never read by sad old woman in the rocking chair. My name means wind of elegant respect exposes joy in foul grave of my heart at sudden jazz of cars on highway bridge that glisten gold in anguish of night rain though we return to paradise we lost and hide behind tall Tree of Ignorance.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus cuts pictures from fashion magazines and arranges them in clever collages of socialized images that expose hypocrisy of pious angels who sing hymns in church.
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