Corpse Of Your Dead God
© Surazeus
2026 01 22

When I am finished eating all the stars
after running through valley of the dead,
I will carry huge corpse of your dead god
on my back to open love-broken doors,
then suavely stroll across the writhing bridge
till I arrive at the ultimate edge.

Sufficient compensation as reward
for cleaning rotten garbage from the church
will never resupply my bank account
while butchered cow of god hangs from the cord
on which depends joke of the destitute
with aggressive faith for the absolute.

When I grow youthful with the turning globe
that spirals over pyramid of fruit
I play cowled role of the scythe-swinging ghost
who beckons you to join judgmental probe,
qualified by blind devil of the lake
to advocate for the fruit-stealing snake.

Though jauntily unbowed by social crash
our old world order suffers this strange hour,
I seek the star-eyed Sibyl in Dream Tower
to learn calculus of puzzling potash
which fertilizes fields of theology
through prophecies based on psychology.

With constellated powers of the brain
I trick aggressive tyrants of empires
to fund operations of psychic choirs
through preposterous scam of cloistered coins
exchanged by proud ghosts of the stock exchange
who read auguries of the crumbling range.

We sell our failures to the sports goods store
with brave ambition of scared puppeteers
who hang enemy skulls on chandeliers
despite bad dreams that shake our mental core
before we take tea on long afternoons
to avoid explosions of graveyard moons.

We plant trees we never sit under now
to construct kites from insecurities
because no one gives up their liberties
till Jesus returns on the holy cow
which never happens, even to this day,
since none escape catatonic decay.

Through attentive parlay of energy
we present our bodies as tragic art
by understanding how we got our start
evolving fish to god with panurgy
so we can build new order of the world
based on dream design of the cosmic herald.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/01/…

Orpheus drags the corpse of Cronus across the waste land where the ghost of Apollo walks by his side till he arrives at the South Pole where he hangs the dead god as a flag on a pole.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism