Absence Of Auspicious Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

To buy dragon eggs at the grocery store,
I carry magic box of blinking eyes,
reluctant to transcend limits of thought
as if I am the tragic money man
who always stumbles on the muddy road
though I stare at the ghost on the front porch.

To dive in lake of pain before dawn light,
I watch collapsing century resurge
with monstrous tenderness of berry jam
which teaches me importance of dream facts
to avoid the trap of hiding regret
for living blasphemously without pride.

To ransack archives of personal taste,
I dismiss surprises of history
smeared with melancholy colors of hope
which suit my vibrant life style on the town
when I perform dramatic scenes to prove
lessons of survival trick me with wealth.

To relax in burning building of faith,
I write strange thought formulas on chalk boards
that describe how flowers explode from brains
through social ideologies of power
that divide us into factions of blind greed,
impersonal as mountains that drink clouds.

To analyze photographs of blurred ghosts,
I stand beside the stop sign near the park
and count how many chances I have missed
in vain attempts to evade curse of fame
that dogs my footsteps past the Promised Land
till I attend inauguration balls.

To formulate myself as almost real,
I break into meaningless tomb of fear
where skeleton of Jesus, cracked by fate,
crumbles into gold dust of burned-out stars,
so I stand trembling on the global stage
and erase heroes from national myths.

To join my neighbors at the barbecue,
I untwist proverbs from roots of dead trees
disguised as telephone lines of contempt
that beam puzzling riddles to glowing screens
reflecting faces in masks of dead gods
whom we perform all day with reticence.

To try ingenuous mode with bitter guile,
I measure changing contours of the world
where priests lead believers in maze of lies
because in the end every person dies,
for every fake belief in holy books
blinds me to absence of auspicious love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus fixes the broken door of the abandoned church by the bankrupt refrigerator factory near the railroad tracks of the small midwestern town where grandson of Jesus runs the gas station.

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