Build Elaborate Charity

Build Elaborate Charity
© Surazeus
2023 01 31

These many nights of chilly sunless frost 
the moon-eyed owl of demon-haunted woods 
sweeps aureate rings of turbulent desire 
to build elaborate clarity through shock 
straight from mind-expanding epiphanies 
that open panoramic thoughts of love. 

Then, with perpetual passion, undecayed 
by tarnished concepts twisting minds with hope, 
we contest secrecy of sanctioned truth 
immutable to arguments of logic, 
unperverted yet by impaired complaint, 
till fools declare themselves angels of faith. 

Forsaken figures of inviolate flight, 
bent toward proud declarations, foretold 
by flashing thoughts behind still-nameless masks, 
display ambition paced with cautious rage 
never disclosed by careless words of fear 
concealed in harbor of implicit hope. 

Though unspent motion, calculating dreams, 
yet unexpressed in blueprints for respect, 
glorified by baneful beatitudes, 
fuels aggressive force of tense reverence, 
we channel fierce esteem of sincere honor 
to bless frail souls compressed by misery. 

With accolades of voiceless friends, constrained 
at dawn by silver flash of faith, though praised 
by reborn queen of sunless afternoons, 
we measure complex maze of doorless homes 
in strict tandem with momentary faith 
on which we rebuild empire of the mind. 

No jagged cliff of long-unspoken thoughts 
could ever contain power to command 
loyal followers who, eager to obey 
visionary proverbs, help to construct 
world view that incorporates all known facts 
in comprehensive story we design. 

Each deep vibration, ringing across time 
when I strum harp strings with new-aligned pledge, 
could condense eternity in one word 
if, ever spoken by light of the moon, 
unshadows boundless truth of love undone 
by gentle kiss we wish to share at death. 

Awake in sleepless dream of Evermore, 
submerged in darkness always undeterred, 
I vault my sweeping soul of good intentions 
in maze of myths that preserves names of gods 
to exercise self-control of true faith 
with liberty in law all men would buy. 

Maze Of The Eye

Maze Of The Eye
© Surazeus
2023 01 30

Swifter than process of the waterfall 
my leap of faith carries me beyond truth 
because when I answer the midnight call 
sorrow transforms me into the sleuth 
reluctant to answer the question why 
that cages my soul in maze of the eye. 

Complete as shell of the unbroken word 
my naked calculation to grasp power 
arranges puzzle of the dream unheard 
that proves salvation of the twisted flower 
always codes writhing window of the sky 
each time I try to map maze of the eye. 

Sudden as collapse of our old world view 
our love at first sight protects us from harm 
though happy children sailing past the new 
sell each other lies with defractured charm 
as if they cannot believe angels fly 
over walls that define maze of the eye. 

Instead of forcing species of lost worlds 
to assimilate against their free will 
the kind-hearted queen helps lost boys and girls 
join collective where they share unique skill 
to build galactic empire while they vie 
with lovers to create maze of the eye. 

Crazy with grief at loss of ones we love 
we wander dazed in haze of memories 
to reach in vain for paradise above 
that never opens doors with secret keys 
confused beyond logic we should apply 
till we meet our ghosts in maze of the eye. 

Stuck in dark shadow of the hopeless hour 
where demons of our fears lurk behind masks 
we grope for life with hearts stubbornly dour 
while we hide our feelings under cold casques 
since resistance is futile to comply 
with mandate of fate in maze of the eye. 

Strange as self-sacrifice of love may seem 
to spirits twisted with bitter despair 
we escape trap of false wisdom we deem 
too precious for bold game of truth or dare 
with consequence only fools will defy 
in bid to transcend weird maze of the eye. 

Shocked by the horrible beauty of death 
that deconstructs organic souls in time 
my body conspires energy through breath 
designed by victors who evolve from slime 
in process of learning how to descry 
way of salvation through maze of the eye. 

Lonely In Her Heart

Lonely In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2023 01 29

The girl, who walks across the plain of grass, 
knows not that she is lonely in her heart 
for she is friends with the sun and the wind, 
and she talks to the river of blue light 
who replies with soft laughter of pure joy, 
so she thinks she is the star stone who sings. 

The girl, who plucks apples from tree of life, 
chats with the smiling spirit of the tree 
about game of the lion and the deer, 
and the tree explains the cycle of life, 
how things are born, perform their role, then die, 
for everything will dissolve in the wind. 

The girl, who stands on broad top of the hill 
to see the river flowing on the plain, 
asks the wind, who hugs her with eager arms, 
why she feels sharp hungry ache of desire 
to feel the bold rain fill her empty heart 
with bolt of lightning from the glowing sun. 

The girl, who holds the white moon in her hand, 
gleaming diamond she finds on the hill top, 
gazes deep in cold water of its depth 
to see the first flash at the dawn of time 
expand into sparkling torrent of stars 
that stream pure white as milk across the sky. 

The girl, who walks along the river shore, 
sees the tall wingless owl with hands like hers, 
and stares astonished as he waves his arms 
then runs fast as the swift deer on two legs 
to stand before her with featherless face, 
so she reaches out her hand to touch his. 

The girl, who holds basket of fruits and nuts, 
intertwines the fingers of her left hand 
with agile fingers of the wingless owl, 
so she talks to him about life and death, 
and when he talks she understands his thoughts, 
for he is the boy and not the tree owl. 

The girl, who stands alone on windy plain, 
feels lonely for the first time in her life 
when she watches the boy with stick and stone 
walk away and disappear in the trees, 
so she follows him to top of the hill 
where they stand together in hopeful wind. 

The girl, who feels lonely when he is gone, 
gives the boy the sweet apple of her heart, 
watching him smile with delight as he eats, 
then she kisses his mouth with eager hope, 
and they make love under the apple tree 
as the wind and the river sing with joy. 

Stone Who Sings

Stone Who Sings
© Surazeus
2023 01 29

I am the individual soul of time, 
water incarnate in body of flesh 
who feels itself awake in glow of light 
that shimmers in buffeting wind of hope 
through swirling pattern of conceptual love 
as my brain evolves from the Stone Who Sings. 

I blossom into god I dream I am 
based on potential latent in my being 
which I design with every life I grow 
for I have been alive in coil of genes 
four hundred million years of spinning Earth, 
therefore I name myself the Stone Who Sings. 

I lack bold words of comfort to express 
empathy for how other people feel 
which swells from vibrating core of my heart 
in surging tides of compassionate love 
which motivates these tragic songs of hope 
bleeding from hard heart of the Stone Who Sings. 

I mold this mortal body of my brain 
from timeless concept of my divine self 
that fractals from immortal soul of genes 
which deathless mother weaves from dust of stars 
then gives me name to anchor me in time 
which always translates as the Stone Who Sings. 

I am the shapelessness of timeless glow 
that slithers through the endless maze of myths 
as transient bodies my ancestors wear 
till I wake in this body I am now 
amazed at journey of my genes through time 
till this hour I become the Stone Who Sings. 

I am the weird fabricator of light 
programming how my mind perceives the world 
each time I perform the mind-leap of faith 
when we meet face to face on stage of hope 
and give each other names that make us real 
since I emanate from the Stone Who Sings. 

I wait with moon owl in library hall 
to catch the wingless angel in my arms 
when she smiles shyly after kissing me 
because we like to read forgotten tale 
about lovers who meet by random chance 
to generate soul of the Stone Who Sings. 

I wander lost in labyrinth of my dreams 
where ghosts of my ancestors call my name 
till I enter door of the home I build 
filled with ten thousand books of poetry 
that record beautiful horror of life 
based on lonely love of the Stone Who Sings. 

Planet Of Zakal

Planet Of Zakal
© Surazeus
2023 01 28

The starship tumbles in the buzzing void 
after bouncing over anomalies 
of pulsing shards from cracked mirror of time 
then plunges into jello atmosphere 
to skid along sulfuric sea of tears, 
and lurches stuck on ruby-cluttered shore. 

Emerging from smoking wreck of her ship, 
Captain Kwan Yanling, in protective suit, 
climbs over emerald boulders to ascend 
mountain slope teeming with enormous web 
of vines that bloom with apricot-like fruit, 
while gathering data with blinking eye-tablet. 

Entering fractured gate of diamond pillars, 
carved with figurines of dinosaur people 
and verses of poems in elegant runes, 
Captain Kwan walks vast maze of city streets 
among towering pyramids of emeralds 
each covered with sprawling temple estates. 

Unnerved by eerie silence of bright streets 
cluttered with millions of bleached skeletons, 
Captain Kwan guides drone above city maze 
to scan its infrastructure with bright beams 
which generates virtual model of this world 
as complex maze of myths inside her brain. 

Slithering from jagged cave of amethyst, 
enormous dragon worm with thousand wings 
of feathery spikes that drip poisonous words 
lunges toward Captain Kwan with open jaws 
bristling long sharp fangs of aggressive lust, 
so she fires lasers from rifle of faith. 

Running through shifting maze of mirror doors 
that realign dimensions of strange truth, 
Captain Kwan battles hordes of ten-eyed clones 
that skitter on six legs of hungry rage, 
blasting them with hot laser beams of courage 
till they quiver among skulls of dead gods. 

Safe from attack by huge demonic ants, 
Captain Kwan explores vast temple complex 
to study murals of paintings on walls 
that depict how their ancestors evolved 
from dinosaurs into ravens with hands, 
then destroyed their empire with civil war. 

Arriving back on ruby-cluttered shore, 
Captain Kwan repairs her sturdy starship 
with Pluto gems that fuel its time-jump engine, 
then soars away from Planet of Zakal, 
cargo heaped with library books of wisdom, 
and grins as she navigates back to Earth. 

Boat To Nevermore

Boat To Nevermore
© Surazeus
2023 01 27

The sparkling snow of ancient centuries 
veils vine-entangled tombs of long-dead kings 
but still their widows tend to honey bees 
and kneel to weep when the mute idol sings 
about the horseman with the blood-stained sword 
who guards temple of his pregnant wife Njord. 

Soft voice-call of their children in cold wind 
pretends to open broken door of light 
when they refuse to gather in the church 
where demons hide in words of ancient books 
for fools who wander maze of Holy City 
prefer to enter gate to Purgatory. 

Because we float on the infinite sea, 
lost in deliberation of the truth, 
we would compare weird silence of each voice 
to ships wrecked on the shores of nameless worlds 
yet no one ever prays to God of Rain 
except to ask for apples in the wain. 

Across interminable space of desire 
we follow bland eternity of faith 
to find the angry boy in hall of fire 
whose lamplight never reveals the mind wraith 
who breathes sweet scent of flowers without hope 
for subtle proverbs that would help us cope. 

I dream strange revelation in the dark 
at haunting sorrow of the morning lark 
about abstraction of our lost friendship 
symbolized by the bruised rose on the ground 
at second coming of the wizened crone 
who never calls us on the telephone. 

The dead who never return to our world 
still linger as nameless ghosts in our minds 
so though we sit alone in silent rooms 
they crowd around us in shadows of words 
we never speak as rain streams on the glass 
that cannot shield our hearts from pain of truth. 

If I return to mill on the River Floss 
I hope to meet young Maggie Tulliver 
who wears green overcoat and old black shoes 
before she boards the boat to Nevermore, 
but no one answers my heart-aching call 
so I stare at dead orange leaves as they fall. 

Because no Heaven shines above blind clouds 
we savor glow of sunlight after rain 
while lounging in the meadow with milk cows 
to ponder how our last kiss can ease pain 
yet Njord breast-feeds her baby by the lake 
as moonlight gleams blue on scales of the snake. 
 

Born From The Dictionary

Born From The Dictionary
© Surazeus
2023 01 26

For no reason that can be ascertained 
by the blind mathematician on the moon 
three children sit by the lake in the park 
and tell each other the faceless robot 
is their father who invented the Earth 
when he tore pages from the dictionary. 

The youngest child who wears the purple dress 
looks for her mind among the hungry weeds 
to reclaim broken mask her body lost, 
but silver shadow of the open door 
reveals sublime theater where the fool 
steals nothing but truth from the dictionary. 

Barefoot, the three children walk back to school 
to hide their sorrow in the story book 
left on the windowsill in summer rain 
till the rocket ship in the playground breaks 
free from religious ecstasy of faith 
to resurrect ghosts from the dictionary. 

While eating popcorn in the misty wood 
the three children searching for hidden gate 
ask the oldest woman in the world why 
millions of people die in each world war, 
but she gives them slices of apple pie 
till their mother springs from the dictionary. 

Holding her mind in the stained pickle jar, 
the child who understands the song of rain 
wakes after terrible car accident 
to sing about the way human hearts 
grow pretentious wings from psychotic wounds 
that bleed fake answers from the dictionary. 

Mapping trajectory of each honey bee 
whose dance reveals quest for the holy grail, 
the other child who never deigns to speak 
hides her mind in the attic with cobwebs 
so she can catch the devil with three eyes 
who extracts anguish from the dictionary. 

The nameless child receives the letter first 
that reports how the boy she hates to love 
fell off the mountain of the burning bush 
in vain attempt to steal the Key of Heaven 
because only the moonlight knows her heart 
that morphs as angel from the dictionary. 

The child no one can see waits in the church 
to steal the sacred lyre of Mercury 
so she can record names and deeds of heroes 
before their faces vanish in the rain 
but she stands entranced on the busy street, 
amazed at people born from the dictionary. 

Tomb Of His Heart

Tomb Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2023 01 26

The unconsoled widower in dark woods 
escapes from crumbling tower of Aquitaine, 
clutching lute he once played for his sweet bride, 
and stumbles under black sun of despair, 
unable to find pure star of his love 
that gleams with melancholy of lost hope. 

Trembling all night in the vine-entwined tomb, 
the groaning widow prince of Aquitaine 
plays untuned strings of the star-spangled lute 
and sings heart-aching ballad of the day 
he met sweet Melusine by garden well 
in lush villa maze of Pausilypon. 

High on rocky cliff above secret grotto, 
where Odysseus outwitted the Cyclopes, 
the virile star-eyed prince of Aquitaine, 
dressed as Phoebus with his star-spangled lute, 
gazes entranced with love at Melusine, 
fairy who dances with serpentine grace. 

Enchanted with love that pierces their hearts, 
Phoebus and Melusine embrace and kiss 
with passionate desire of timeless trust 
by trellis where the vine entwines the rose, 
bodies buzzing with chemical desire 
to generate new life from heart of Earth. 

Sailing with his bride home to Aquitaine, 
Phoebus carries her up the winding stairs 
and locks her safe inside high tower room 
where Melusine eats apples every day 
and sings with blue sparrows on the windowsill 
that soar on fragile wings of liberty. 

Belly swelling ripe with child of his seed, 
Melusine sings in tall tower of hope, 
so Phoebus peers through window of her heart 
but stares surprised when his fairy transforms 
into scarlet serpent with star-gold eyes 
that coils around small room with lightning power. 

While giving birth to daughter of his soul, 
the serpent fairy with sapphire-blue eyes 
cries out in agony of wrenching pain, 
then Phoebus holds her in his arms and weeps 
with bereaved heart at loss of his sweet bride 
while their daughter wails for milk on her breast. 

Cradling baby Rapunzel in his arms, 
Phoebus sails across the broad Acheron 
to lay Melusine in tomb of his heart, 
then modulates lute with lyre of Orpheus 
and sings elegy that soothes bereaved heart 
as tower of Aquitaine crumbles to dust. 

Live In My Body Now

Live In My Body Now
© Surazeus
2023 01 25

Her eyes burn beautiful truth in my heart 
which gives me strength to look beyond all lies 
while I wait long under patient pine tree 
and pine with longing to see her again 
though rain drenches my spirit with desire 
so I learn to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn immortal stars in my heart 
which pulse electric energy of love 
as threads of light that spiral in my cells 
on flashing wings of passionate desire 
delicate as the butterfly of faith 
who helps me to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn arrogant waves in my heart 
which swirl as blood in my spiritual veins 
with timeless melody of vibrant thoughts 
since I see no stars in black sky tonight 
except those gleaming in my memory 
though I want to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn fantastic wings in my heart 
which vibrate with embodiment of hope 
since I aspire to transcend maze of myths 
through leap of faith across abyss of fear 
till I transform into the me I am 
if I hope to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn mysterious birds in my heart 
which unveil baffling puzzle of my mind 
designed by dreams my ancestors performed 
through intense experience of their hope 
in struggle to survive against blind death 
that teach me to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn perplexing myths in my heart 
which frame how I perceive this complex world 
to organize random events I play 
in grand narrative of truth I compose 
in vain attempt to explain how I strive 
when I try to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn unsettling weird in my heart 
which beguiles my receptive attitude 
with glamorous visions in garden of fruit 
to believe in paradise we invent 
that shelters our souls from the hostile world 
yet I think to live in my body now. 

Her eyes burn singular grace in my heart 
which wakes my soul with perspicacity 
of keen insight that measures unseen vibes 
when I adjudicate erudite passion 
to claim inalienable right to exist 
when I choose to live in my body now. 

Heaven-Seeking Wings

Heaven-Seeking Wings
© Surazeus
2023 01 24

Waxing feathers of hawks on frame of wood, 
Daedalus constructs Heaven-seeking wings 
so his son may escape tower of fear 
and soar above this world of changing forms 
to find Realm of Ideas where the Craftsman 
designs this planet where we live and die. 

Shading his gray eyes with sun-leathered hands, 
Daedalus watches the hawk with gold eyes 
glide most efficiently on tapered wings, 
then swoop with elegant grace on wind gust 
down tight-wound spiral through infinite love 
to snatch lizard demon on river shore. 

Cleansing and sewing wounds on soft white skin, 
Daedalus heals Icarus, his young son, 
after King Minos, laughing on gold throne, 
forced him to run vast labyrinth of faith 
where his son Minotaur, wearing bull head, 
hunts boys and girls with double-bladed axe. 

Affixing frame of feathers, shaped like wings 
of Horus, swift sky-leaping hawk of hope, 
Daedalus leads his trembling frightened son 
to balcony high above wave-washed rocks, 
then both together leap on wings of faith 
to soar on wind above abyss of rage. 

Soaring on cool Zephyrian gusts of wind 
through graceful imitation of the hawk, 
Daedalus glides away from prison tower 
and aims toward distant mountain of new hope 
where he and Icarus, his gentle son, 
may live forever safe in lush Elysium. 

Looking back to find figure of his son, 
Daedalus sees brave Icarus soar high 
with gleeful ambition of the wild heart 
which beats with love for liberty in youth, 
and grins with pleasure to hear him rejoice 
with passion to escape prison of fear. 

Gasping as he calls to his bold son, 
Daedalus cries for him to moderate 
rate of ascension beyond bounds of strength, 
but, hypnotized by beauty of the sun, 
Icarus soars ever higher with lust 
to embrace Queen of Light Solaria. 

Howling with anguish at the tragic fall, 
Daedalus watches wings his hands designed 
crumble apart into puzzle of faith, 
and weeps as frail Icarus tumbles spinning 
to crash into bright mirror of the sea 
that swallows his soul into nothingness. 

Engine Of Commercial Gain

Engine Of Commercial Gain
© Surazeus
2023 01 24

Dull aching sorrow of the busy street, 
where cars glide past sun-blind windows of stores 
under tangled net of telephone lines, 
suppresses ambition through mute ennui 
because I have no place of secure work, 
discharged from engine of commercial gain. 

Dislocated from market of desire 
by invisible hand of corporate greed, 
I wander past windows of stock-full stores 
in vain quest to find my place in the world 
where I can extract value from the air 
through exertion of labor to create. 

If I clutch rifle of aggressive hope 
perhaps I could assert my hungry right 
with brutal expression of bestial power 
to exist and thrive in resourceful world 
where actions of rogue individuals prove 
law of the jungle rewards selfish strength. 

Yet as I lean against the white-brick wall, 
while trucks and cars whiz past me on the road, 
all visions of bold future enterprise 
performing my role in the cash machine 
dissipate like dawn mist in hot sun glare 
that agitates insects over dark lakes. 

Idol Of The Faceless God

Idol Of The Faceless God
© Surazeus
2023 01 23

This inauspicious day when no birds fly 
displays law of conservation of mass 
where pulsing entities of energy 
will never be created or destroyed 
for they are rearranged in waves of space 
so I become owl spirit of my heart. 

I have no panegyric of grand thoughts 
to praise mad emperor of the seven worlds 
before assembly of all global kings 
who fight each other for lush vales of fruit 
while children of all nations attend school 
to learn how we evolve from ocean slime. 

Great cities at the heart of world empires 
always grow at the mouths of major rivers 
controlled by gangsters with weapons of death 
who crown the meanest bully as their king 
and then declare it treason to oppose 
rule of his first son appointed by God. 

The small boy crouches in the apple tree, 
clutching stick and stone with his trembling hands, 
breathes deeply, then leaps on back of the wolf 
to fight the snarling devil to the death, 
and, after feasting on its divine soul, 
he wears its fur as cloak of divine power. 

The werewolf, holding love wand and truth orb, 
ascends small ziggurat past watching crowd, 
his wolf-fur cloak blowing in ocean wind, 
then confiscates the gold spiked crown of jewels 
from the old blind man who demands respect, 
and crowns himself new Emperor of Earth. 

Transforming into statue of white marble, 
the living god becomes the worshipped idol 
that stands ten thousand years on pyramid 
constructed on the skulls of weeping slaves 
as empires rise and fall in tides of change 
till nothing remains but the faceless god. 

Climbing pyramid of one shining eye, 
I face the idol of the faceless god 
who symbolizes leader of the tribe 
because the living man who plays his role 
personifies the spirit of the nation 
as incarnation of the Divine Mind. 

When the owl flies across the starry sky, 
at the global inauguration rite 
where people of Earth vote for who plays God, 
I write his name and deeds in Book of Power 
to record brief reign of another king 
who becomes idol of the faceless god. 

Green Fairy Wine

Green Fairy Wine
© Surazeus
2023 01 22

While driving my yellow Volkswagen car 
along the sun-drenched California coast 
to Hippie Town in the Summer of Love, 
I find myself, teleported to Paris, 
driving down crowded Boulevard Montmartre 
in elegant age of the Belle Epoque. 

Slamming on the brakes with intense surprise, 
I stop before I hit Charles Baudelaire, 
the dandy Flaneur in black leather cloak 
who glares at me from under black top-hat, 
then offers me the Green Fairy Wine, 
so I drink sweet spirit of Artemis. 

When Baudelaire glides in the morning crowd 
I follow him through La Samaritaine 
down long tunnel beneath maze of the city 
to the secret Temple of Libertas 
where Lutetia sits on gold lion throne 
in ermine robe and crowned with ring of diamonds. 

When the white raven swoops from the oak tree 
to flutter wild angel wings past my head, 
my vision blurs as I feel the world shift, 
then wake by cottage near Windermere Lake 
to see Lou Salome in long black skirt 
as convalescent dozing in oak chair. 

Propped by swan-feather pillow in sunlight, 
that shimmers on garden of herbs and worts 
among trees with apples, peaches, and plums, 
Lou Salome breathes soft as butterflies 
that fan frail wings on book of poetry 
open on her lap called Les Fleurs du Mal. 

Soft lake breeze plays with curls of chestnut hair 
as her hands rest on book of poetry, 
so I approach to kiss her parted lips, 
but catch quick glimpse from corner of my eye 
of sun-haloed Helius by the plum tree 
who strums strings on the lyre of Mercury. 

But when I turn to see the God of Light 
I find instead the mustached Friedrich Nietzsche 
pulling two-wheeled cart heaped with purple pears, 
so I hand him star lamp that fell from Heaven 
which he carries to the Mountain of Skulls 
to search for the putrified corpse of God. 

Entering Duino Castle on rugged cliff 
that overlooks sparkling Gulf of Trieste, 
I wander endless mirror maze of myths, 
where mask of every god mankind has worshipped 
smiles at me from Museum of Lost Souls, 
then write holy hymns to Eurydice. 

Emerging from Hades into bright glare, 
I gaze at tall Statue of Liberty, 
whose Book of Wisdom enlightens the world, 
then pray to Athena with arms upraised 
for truth about real nature of the world 
who shows me atoms swerving in the void. 

Teleported back home to California, 
I walk lush trail around Lake Siskiyou 
to gaze at snow-frosted peak of Mount Shasta 
as I convalesce in timeless paradise 
far from ravages of disease and war 
so I can find rebirth from fires of Hell. 

Bank Vault Of The Mind

Bank Vault Of The Mind
© Surazeus
2023 01 21

The blind boy who walks in the burning town 
asks the three-eyed raven for secret code 
to open door to bank vault of the mind 
where plates of gold with memories are stored 
till the ticking clock on the heap of trash 
reveals the girl destined to rule the world. 

The yellow dress snagged on the barbwire fence 
decides to lend her wings to the book owl 
who takes the loaded pistol to the church 
before the fragile plate falls to the ground 
at sudden explosion of asphodels 
from unconfirmed grave of the tyrant king. 

The wood dock on the silver misty lake 
lures the lonely girl with soft yellow glow 
of morning sunlight over tender trees 
because the god-frog on the toadstool sings 
math formulas no mother can forget 
when her child first learns how to walk and talk. 

The widowed waitress at the roadside diner 
smokes cigarette by the telephone pole 
where the national jester was crucified 
for cracking jokes about the movie star 
who drowned when she fell off the fishing boat 
after giving her watch to the blind boy. 

I want to ask her on another date 
to watch the science fiction picture show 
about the sentient ocean on the moon 
discovered by the girl with broken wings 
eager to sell her leather boots to Zeus 
stolen by the ass in the lion skin. 

The universe is indifferent to me 
but I love the entire strange multiverse 
with every twanging fiber of my being 
because Apollo strums strings of my heart 
loud as electric guitar on stage 
while he sings the Star-Spangled Banner weird. 

So I hold hands with Melusine at dawn 
as golden light of the sun shimmers stark 
on flowing wavelets of her long black hair 
while she talks to her mother on the phone 
about our plan to sell our house and move 
to Athens where the wingless angel laughs. 

The leaky river boat Alastor stole 
bobs on restless waves of the timeless wind 
so we set sail across abyss of truth 
to escape tyrant in the castle tower 
who cries over death of his haughty son 
though light explains why nobody is lost. 

Corpses Without Names

Corpses Without Names
© Surazeus
2023 01 21

The bloated corpse of god on trash-strewn beach 
rises up on tattered wings of desire 
and gives me ancient map on human skin 
which shows me signless road to Asphodel 
where Persephone weeps over my skull 
till Plouton gives everyone coins of gold. 

Flopping around as I attempt to walk, 
I stagger among heaps of rotting trash 
from civilization on pristine beach, 
and reconstruct office building with phones 
where alligators and giraffes process 
credit card payments on fractured screens. 

Riding the city bus past factories 
and cathedrals filled with zombies in suits, 
I photograph every person I see 
and paste their photos on Cliffs of Moher 
to understand what each soul cares about 
as their bodies merge together in dirt. 

Knocking on doors of homes on Christmas Eve, 
I walk street maze in green Seattle mist 
and sing carols to corpses without names 
who drop coins of Plouton into my cup 
so I can buy the Starship Enterprise 
and fly to Jupiter where my wife lives. 

Just as I fall to my knees on glass plain 
before Yggdrasil writhing in moonlight, 
Aberewa with long serpentine hair 
takes my hand and leads me in mirror maze 
to Asamando deep inside the Earth 
where I blossom from the cracked apple seed. 

No matter where I roam on trash-strewn world 
I want to return home to Asphodel 
where foxes play in dew-wet meadow grass 
till steel bulldozers uproot Irminsul 
so I run from Marathon all night long 
to weep before lost grave of Earendil. 

Rapunzel plays harp on the trash-strewn beach 
while Aberewa chants among dead trees 
till Persephone takes my photograph 
because Plouton wants to publish my book 
but no one knows the way to Asphodel 
where I lie among corpses without names. 

We wonder why our bodies are alive 
so we invent religions to explain 
divine nature of our soul consciousness 
which is nothing more than function of light 
beaming atoms in waves of molecules 
while I pick up trash from the lonely beach. 

Brave Argonauts In Space

Brave Argonauts In Space
© Surazeus
2023 01 20

The young girl gives me mirror of my face 
so I compose new consumable song 
about my childhood in small Texas town 
where blue diamond beams television shows 
about trip of brave Argonauts in space 
till I find the stone woman on the moon. 

Though the past is more present than this hour, 
I am exploding moment of the book 
that conjures virtual world my brain invents 
so we can ride our bikes on asphalt road 
to the library on the college campus 
where ghosts of missionaries eat dead crows. 

While I sail far across the ocean blue 
in frantic quest to find the mundane grail, 
the angel Oyarsa appears on deck 
to give me emerald tablet which contains 
sacred formulas that define how light 
constructs crystal matrix of glowing words. 

Still lost in region of the cryptosphere 
while hitchhiking with the broken guitar, 
I map the signless roads of Wonderland 
to hide church of the stone woman from fools 
who think they can buy the beautiful truth 
which Phoebus painted on the Grecian urn. 

When the snowy egret of Zathamar 
glides across fractured mirror of the moon 
I might invent elaborate alphabet 
that could describe strangeness of mutual love 
for the one divine couple in the garden 
while millions perish in world genocide. 

The tarnished diadem on the black lake 
decides the hidden dragon of nowhere 
shall now rule as the emperor of the Earth 
as if God Turtle on the riverbank 
can guide the jester to the Promised Land 
where millions of people turn into trees. 

Though I find gold medallion of kingship 
shimmering in tidepool with red starfish 
my girlfriend gives me shovel she designed 
so I become slow silver swirl of waves 
that reflect stars of my Saturnine eyes 
because I wonder why the wind is sad. 

The insolent beauty of naked souls 
who glide frail in the silver sea of time 
explains permanent factor of the mind 
through excruciating concepts of faith 
before death materializes from storm 
to translate desire with chemical love. 

Window Ghost Of Me

Window Ghost Of Me
© Surazeus
2023 01 19

The window ghost who invests in dead leaves 
commissions bold oracle in the orange 
to measure speed of atoms which retrieve 
fraught laughter from the murky reservoir 
then spill headfirst into the shapeless egg 
though we dance playfully in wordless lakes. 

The window ghost with burning paper hands 
returns to Florence on the wingless ship 
with puzzling pause of punctual platitudes 
that might allow for vanguard of twilight 
to ring with discipline of lonely wolves 
who understand blue walls of everywhere. 

The window ghost of floating speed retained 
clutches convention by the wordless throat 
with drastic failure of experiments 
rearranging thoughts for the puzzle train 
soft as frog skin over frail skeleton 
which violates laws of physics unresolved. 

The window ghost tricks puzzles on the grass 
with forensic evidence of past scenes 
reframed as terrors squirming in dead books 
which emanate permanence of gravestones 
in tune with evanescence of fireflies 
that never satisfy meaning we lose. 

The window ghost of me considers why 
I build my real house in dreamscape of fear 
incarnate as the robot with nine brains 
which haunts office of the psychiatrist 
who smirks with joy at spooky nonchalance 
we find each session through ignorant bliss. 

The window ghost inside the gabled house 
establishes position of blind fate 
with solid nowness of the wave-lashed cliff 
since surging tides of passion dissolve doors 
open to rooms where no one wants to wait 
for eyes invented by the song of rain. 

The window ghost calls to touristy trees 
who bring fertile energy from the moon 
to redesign how children must behave 
though born from somewhere over the rainbow 
with talent to reach abstraction from chaos 
by asking flowers how to convert rain. 

The window ghost of me navigates time 
on crystal skies of strict angelic flight 
to prove nostalgia fuels aggressive hope 
for those still living everywhere on Earth 
because she touches my heart with her mind 
where seeds of apple trees bloom into God. 

Photograph My Bones

Photograph My Bones
© Surazeus
2023 01 19

I never let her photograph my bones 
so she still thinks I am the lonely oak 
that walks every evening to the book store 
where ghosts emanate from dream-tangled words 
without regret for why the wet road leads 
to the white farmhouse on misty green plain. 

The unknown driver turns the worried wheel 
to stab dark gloom with grim headlights of hope 
in vain search for the old shadowless bride 
whose gray eyes explain the bone-chilling night 
soft as eerie jazz on the radio 
still wailing after the midnight moon bleeds. 

The large thing in the woods decides to show 
laughing children how the arrogant book 
specifies abrupt thoughts of hungry fear 
that beat against the house of haughty doors 
safer than the church where kind monsters pray 
for salvation from painting of the man. 

The vaguely heroic vibe death radiates 
while sitting by cracked window of desire 
veils long-dead stars with troubling attitude 
that disregards conceptual rules designed 
by the blind man who plays piano well 
enough to need no compass for the game. 

The woman who never wears the white dress 
still holding shadow of faith in her hands 
decides to walk backward down marble stairs 
slow enough for the hummingbird to know 
which key will open glass cathedral mind 
before she finishes weaving my wings. 

The end of the world will never be dark 
because the sun will be expanding fast 
from exploding core of atomic choice 
that leaves us teetering on the edge of time 
if we choose to smile subtler than the orange 
which rolls off the round table of state power. 

The rain that howls against the window mask 
wants to kiss my mind with subtle respect 
for lies told by the man in the black suit 
since he spends winters plowing the dry field 
to find skulls of kings for his mantelpiece 
which will never prophesy death of love. 

The drowned daughter who lies beside the oak 
sings with the nervous sparrow about why 
we are all frail in the starless black night 
as numberless ghosts stuck in storybooks 
with remorseless predators who sell truth 
to the last girl who melts into sea waves. 

High Degree Of Perplexity

High Degree Of Perplexity
© Surazeus
2023 01 18

The faceless people walking on the Earth 
talk to the shining cloud above their head 
for guidance as they navigate the maze 
of doors that hide pure treasures of the soul 
which nurtures motive to regenerate 
life through high degree of perplexity. 

The wingless angel standing on the cloud 
plays loud electric harp of lightning strikes 
that power huge machines of spinning gears 
which operate factories of blind machines 
in tune with heartbeat of the sad robot 
born through high degree of perplexity. 

The eyeless princess on high pyramid 
peers through enormous diamond eye of truth 
to watch events of human history 
performed on flashing television screens 
by actors wearing masks of long-dead gods 
dreamed through high degree of perplexity. 

The crownless king who drives to work each dawn 
types profit numbers in spreadsheet of sales 
to analyze investment of desire 
based on daily purchase habits of ghosts 
who haunt their homes in maze of city streets 
mapped through high degree of perplexity. 

The mindless god-soul of the universe 
spins galaxies of planets in the void 
to brew hot stew of bubbling chemicals 
so we evolve from slime to talking gods 
who fight in gangs to control fertile land 
plowed through high degree of perplexity. 

The doorless temple on the rocky hill 
still shelters refugees from civil wars 
who sing sad hopeful hymns to empty skies 
for savior of the world to come back down 
from heavenly realm of ideal forms 
drawn through high degree of perplexity. 

The handless craftsman in Realm of Ideas 
designs how atoms in molecule chains 
construct material forms from standard memes 
so our immortal souls of genes create 
new bodies for the children of our brains 
spawned through high degree of complexity. 

The timeless process generating life 
continues conjuring bodies from our thoughts 
so we consume each other to maintain 
strange ideologies that conscious brains 
design from random facts our eyes perceive 
built through high degree of complexity. 

Faceless Robot In Cyberspace

Faceless Robot In Cyberspace
© Surazeus
2023 01 17

Based on high degree of complexity 
that measures random absolute of weird, 
my dreams of shining buildings on lush hills 
channel my journey in long crowded halls 
because my eyes beam subtle rays of light 
to carve faces for ghosts who know my name. 

Exceeding standard norms of burstiness, 
by how I generate strange narrative, 
my words contrive conceptual fantasies 
depicting faceless people who perform 
roles recorded in ancient tragic plays 
as dictionary tropes that keep us safe. 

Because I carve trunk of the weeping tree 
into the morbid drum of hollow truth, 
our lonely elders seeking solitude 
dance to beat of the bold shamanic tune 
pulsing with arrogance of ocean waves 
funded by government grants till we die. 

Old vacant house in the middle of town 
waits for the dead who once lived in its heart 
to rise from the grave with demonic wings 
so we can drink tea in the afternoon 
though Death wants to play chess with Honesty 
while agents of the secret service wait. 

If the faceless robot in cyberspace 
dreams every poem that humans ever wrote 
as simple lyrics of positive thought 
we can all hitchhike to Scarborough Fair 
where the child of the mountain wakes from dream 
to translate sounds of silence into songs. 

The meaningless riddles of truth we solve 
reflect the deepest fears we feign to hide 
till angels born from serpent eggs escape 
shadows of our minds on Icarian wings 
so we face our fears with riddles of truth 
to conquer monsters our blithe brains invent. 

For in the end the answers we devise 
map way of wisdom we must choose to take 
in journey through the maze of ancient myths 
till we arrive at gate of destiny 
to find our souls are shaped by how we act 
in life or death situations we plan. 

Trapped in the grand scheme of things without maps 
that help us decode riddles on the wall, 
we wander lit labyrinth of broken doors 
to overcome obstacles we create 
till we find answers in math formulas 
that measure how far ringing atoms swirl.