How do you find machine?
Oh goodness,
far back.
It’s got trailers on it.
A beast slowly rise out of man,
and he gets his fire goin’.
He starts to tremble
with the layout of things.
She puts that in her pocket.
All around there’s roar.
It squeezes yah tightly.
You just die all the time—
someone taken from you again.

This is evil,
however it happens.
You can’t do away with it.
It hurts you so.
You just sit there and bleed
and trust yourself.
Industry is everywhere
in small measure.
You wrap it up,
you’re little vision of yourself

that gets you to protect yourself.

Do you see society bein’ formed?
It lasted a whole lifetime,
your rock the machine.
It was about safety
and hard work
and gettin’ your stupid rituals down to practice.
The group took over.
You couldn’t bake bread.
The individual hadn’t come so far.
You had to make society’s bed.
It didn’t let you sleep.

Where’s drums and spirituality?
In the daily life of man.
The Gods were a strange brood.
You were not real to Them.
You lifted up your voice,
and they put you in the skins of man.
You had too much animal on yah
before that.

Can we dream of spiritual states?
It happened upon a beanpole.
This was not our outward yet.
Society trudged along
a warrior’s path.
Let’s translate instinct into man.
Survival
became the main issue here.
Let’s translate little groups into men.
It was all fought out,
this land is your land this land is mine.
This occupied so much time.
We were murderous,
burying one another
in our stone houses cold.

Women lit the fire.
They got down with the children
on their hands and knees
and looked for grub.
They escaped the network
fight for the land.
They wore clothes
and urged men to pray.
They did not have society’s lair.
They did not rule the show.
They were the influence of the feminine on man.
It really shaped society.
They gave it their all
for a warm place for their children.
We have stable homes because of it.
We need society because of it.

When did marriage come down,
as in you leave my wife alone?
When did we give permission to rape?
Did we organize government stopping murder?
We haven’t even planted food yet
in these early days.
Writing is a thing of the Gods.
We see it in sleep,
and it takes so long
to come down to our hand.
My poem is long before that.

How do we rob each other?
We just let each other be,
and we kick the shit out of each other
when the werewolf hits us.
We grow up with ruckus
all around us.
The quality of life sucks.
We don’t have vision yet.
No one hasn’t seen that far.
We don’t know our dreams are telling us things,
and then we take them by the hand—
a seer is born,
and he’s there to break the rules.

He gets visions of good things
that get spat on.
He hasn’t woven status into the band yet.
It comes and goes.
He’s able to prevent a war
with his vision.
He can show them the way ahead.
He practices art.
These are things he sees.
They are bright and shiny
to his people.
He gets wonder over them.
He lifts his head up and sees God.

He wore a mask.
He played with the boy some.
He didn’t just sit there and explain the sky.
He revealed Himself as God
and that was it.
It was not love divine love who prefigured there.
Primitive man was bound and the stakes were high.
They had to find out
primitive man.

The epiphany of art
gave us broad in our lives.
It opened meditation’s room
and stairwell’s stare.
It gave us delight in ourselves,
and it brought in the world
for our favorite viewing.
It structured society?
No it did not.
It rounded us some.
It gave us eavesdropping eves
on the lowdown.
It sang in the firelight
to a butler’s call.
It ever brightened our room.

Can we see it today?
Time has erased this memory,
but where you find it,
it reveals ourselves.
Do you see it?
It’s got more on it than paint.
It’s got our lives on it
in this very poem.

Society’s carve out
isn’t finished yet.
We have a long way to go.
We have a thunder-swept road directly in front of us.
This is society’s mandate to change.
We’ve got to really change.
It’s not gonna come easy.
Everybody will resist it.
It means changing your way of life.
There’s no other way.
We will die if we don’t.

Respect my poem.
You don’t know it’s bringin’ you
all the way to change.
I’ve got the future in a handbag
I write poems from,
some aspects of it.
It’s a piece of cake
in no way, shape, or form.
We have a blight of change.
Everything about us will have to change
except the basic modes of life.

We will structure society differently.
We will not lie to ourselves anymore.
We will do away with crime and punishment
and love the prisoner as much as ourselves,
but we will still rope him along.
Society will be organized in little groups
of sadhana relays,
where dream has put us together.
We will return to the inner life
wholeheartedly,
and we will share this with each other.
We will stay with each other not as families,
though we will love and respect our family kin.
Our parents will be too young to raise us,
most of the time.
Society’s job will be raising kids,
the spiritual order of the day.
We will get down and dirty with spirituality.
Children will be allowed to school
their talent and scribe.
They will not spend all day there,
and they will like it there.

I think you can count us upon the roads now.
We are not an overpopulated city.
No one makes money anymore.
We work for each other,
and we work and we play
to get this life down,
to do it right—
each one of us involved in that.
We have sex with each other
when we are young.
Sex is a child’s play,
a teenage growing into,
a young adult getting out of.
The mature adult,
the one past thirty,
will leave sex.

We don’t put each other in cars.
Transportation is all arranged,
and we are welcomed to go anywhere
on the planet.
A brighter world
will see a smaller us.
We got our numbers down.
We are an epiphany of the stars,
and we will all translate this in our rooms,
going to Supermind,
going to Earth’s destiny,
the monumental change
that will change us all
from divine living on this Earth
to living on a divine Earth.
That’s the rank and file.

Can’t you see it?
It’s there just look at it.
It’s all around us now,
the hope we survive,
the longing that has made Earth,
the beauty we’re going to be.
Now get ready.
The fire of change will be upon us soon.

To a notebook
I will question this universe.
I will go to my notebook.
That’s for the prosperity of mankind.
You don’t see it.
You can’t.
You can’t read long poems
by the wrong sort of person
your handicapped say.

Now is this an idle mirage?
Freedom for the individual
in the very arms of society,
that’s what I’m writing today;
that’s where I’m at today.
It will come to pass.
It’s already here,
where God meets man.
The price of sacrifice,
I lay it on you.

Now let’s see this vision
in its native room,
where we belong today,
givin’ it to town.
I put everything in here,
give it.
It’s all the whole wide world
in vision.
Of these questions,
I pulled mine out overhead.
I’m not a problem.
I speak your menu.
I’m right on top of it
at my house.
I’m just here with my child,
parenting.
Give this vision time to heal.
Let it do what it’s supposed to do,
show you you.