Electric God Rays
© Surazeus
2026 10 11

When I was a young boy in Fort Worth, Texas
we always ate Roman Meal Bread for lunch,
with slice of Nuteena fried in the pan,
so I would picture myself as Apollo
strumming the golden lyre of Mercury
while soldiers maintained peace of our empire.

While I was attending the first grade
at Morningside Elementary School,
we rode the bus to the bread factory
on Summit Avenue in Fort Worth, Texas
that Ninnie Baird founded in her back yard,
and watched them bake bread on conveyor belts.

Sitting at the wood table in the kitchen
every morning before going to school,
I smoothed peanut butter on slice of bread,
then gooped strawberry jam with gentle care,
which I placed in the small brown paper sack
with the monkey tail of my last name Craig.

I remember riding our red Volkswagen
through the debris-littered streets of Forth Worth
one rain-wet morning of electric sun
after hippies demonstrated all night
against the brutal war in Vietnam,
and staring at a mattress that was burned.

In early morning hours before dawn
when my mother drove us to the daycare,
I heard some guy on the radio sing
Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, I drove
my chevy to the levy but the levy
was dry, them good old American boys.

That song still echoes in my heart today
and vibrates in every song I compose
which rings in waves of subtle prophecy
to shake foundation of cruel tyranny
so we can rebuild our democracy
after long autumn of the patriarch.

I fail learning to sing with the Quaint Voice
prized by School of Domestic Quietude
where poets contemplate their fraught childhoods
as if we are frazzled psychiatric patients
with sponge brains zapped by electric god rays
as incarnation of Phoebus on Earth.

I can no longer find in grocery stores
orange bags with Roman Meal Bread for lunch,
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing
about the fall of empires when cruel tyrants
seize control over the mans of production
till we follow Liberty up from Hell.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus hangs out with Ted Kooser and some poet wanna-be loser, making Nuteena sandwiches with Roman Meal Bread, while terrorists ducks attack hippies.

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