Ziphion Spiral Starchild
© Surazeus
2025 05 10

While Steve fixes broke engine of the truck
in cold garage beside the busy road
he feels spiral starchild bloom in his heart
from eerie melody of crystal flutes,
so he calls the River Walker by name
who sprinkles sugar of faith in his eyes.

Glass tower grows moist mouth that sings in bells
with bronze tongue wounding adamantine hearts,
so Steve walks curling streets of fettered smoke
when River Walker names him Ziphion
though boots dissolve in mirrors made of wax
that seal his vampire soul in grave of gears.

Yet spiral starchild in the weeping tree
plays glass violin with serpentine hands
till apple eyes swirl from the Burning Bush
since River Walker sings in clockspring squeals
with breath of parchment etched by dancing hooves
despite untime deflashing fountain pools.

When Ocean Woman carved from salt gives birth
to fierce angelic wind of screaming caves,
she names him Zephyr with the flaking spine
as son of Ziphion who plays violin
since he unzips his skin and steps aside
to eat the peach inside the singing sun.

Because Ziphion spiral starchild drinks
gold ink of human dreams from open hands,
flash flood of vowels soaks his crumbling jaw
till they grow wings and nest inside his skull,
so alphabet of lies transforms to beast
that blinks in colors he could never name.

With hands of candelight amused by death
Ziphion builds cathedral of weird fate
from muddy stained-glass lungs of coral blue
so love blooms from womb of the chandelier
as saint with antlers twisted from bomb ash
who drinks ink from books he would never write.

With spider legs the moon on legal spires
undances back through wind of fractured eyes,
then breaks her back and scatters into bells
that ring deep in my bones as nameless gods
comprised of paper bees in tolling veins
when Zephyr swallows fake paternal mask.

When Ziphion meets his alter ego Steve,
trapped in glass mannequin of silver smoke,
he gives bread and wine to poor hungry folk
who sleep inside warm chapel of his chest,
then drinks sweet dusk of honest marigolds
to find the streets of fame have learned to speak.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus smokes marigolds with Arthur Rimbaud in the horse born during eternal darkness of the Nowhere Land where angels scream with joy.

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