The muse gave me a message to you, the muse rise and poetry. I’ll see it in the garbage can, won’t I? I don’t know how to negotiate this landmine in outer things. Every world has rejected me. I’m a nation to nobody, dear reader except you. This is across the board. It’s unhand me. It’s blue and it’s red and it’s gold. It’s unbelievably tight.
What do you say to no, we don’t want to have anything to do with you, and this is the entire of the yoga you follow, the city on earth that’s to realize the human dream and be alright with each other? I get kicked out of there too and in the hearts of every man and every woman who could make it possible to see my boy again right out in the open his daddy again, and that anomaly is solved: why the divine in-look on me carries his name, and it is a phantom make.
I stand here confused. Even the halls of poetrydom have spit me out. I have no place in society. I live in some little island of bright, and Douglas and our dogs hold the world together. Our visitors only want something, all they can get, and they only come here for that. We have no friends here. We have no one looking out for us. We are here alone and that’s it. This squeezes you, you know? You don’t understand when humanity and the world mean so much to you.
I’ve painted this isolation for myself. Douglas has friends and family who care for him and provide, else we wouldn’t make it. He lives in his room and I live in mine, but our best-friendship has reached the stars, but can I tell you about Paul? A friend for all the years, who is in the world at large giving me e-blasts I’m your friend. When the world rejects you, you get compensation, friends for all the world, if you’re holdin’ hands with the world, if the world means as much to you as yourself.
I can’t bear this, spit on by everyone, and I’m just diggin’ my hole deeper with these poems. They cost me so much. They tear me apart I am so real with you. I don’t know how to begin to really say it, the be there of the human being.
Oh my God I want to describe it to you, so we can join there. I want you to see my humanity. I don’t want to be an outcast no more. Oh I wish you could feel that. God does, and he’s here with me all day in bright thoughts and muse on the edge of time. Would that you could feel that.
A meaningful life, that’s established. Come to terms with myself and terms deeper. This is all in the sky. I’m a blockchain. I matter to mankind. I’m significant to your notions of self. I’m good to all you haven’t seen yet. I love people and feel their oneness. I am not about the snake. I touch you with deep meaning. I am really there.
The world blows up inside me it has eyes. I commune with the Unknown. I’m about your rocket ship. I ease on you these things: the starling oneness inside us, the jumprope to God, everything we have to do with each other in our ballpark with children and the animals in the room. You hear me there petting my dogs in wonder and taking children to the sky.
I cook meals for you and attend to your business all day. I am not just a selfish wound. I have lifted up the race everywhere I look. I am dawn on you the understanding of poet, and here I am, in my most serious mood, standing up and be counted, because you’ve shunned my face, a rocket-man that knows we share meaning together, that knows my part in the world, that knows I can’t live without you.
You’ve kicked me out of your homes, you’ve kicked me out of your hearts long enough. I’m not a beggar at your gates. I’m the poet at high noon. It’s time we fly. It’s time we fly.
photo by the author, a chalkboard at the entrance to an Auroville middle school
Boxed in the corner, I hear You call my name. I last. I play the game. I know how to handle time. There’s a secret to it. Open yourself to the Invisible. Hold yourself on the inside and see the outside. Don’t just stand there and swim. Mount time the stadium you wear. Don’t be bashful about it. Don’t overrate yourself. Stand up and spell time the way you wear it. Give the voice to the ages. You want to be so sincere you spelled time for everyone.
It can be in a broom closet, but you’ve made that closet sing. I’ve been in dens of iniquity, and I found the price of the world that way. I found out how much we cost hurtin’ people. They wore the boundaries me. They were the hope that carried the world, and I just cried my eyes out when I discovered that. Can you embarrass God? I think I did.
Then I opened inside myself time and discovered its secrets. I had damaged time, and it didn’t punish me with it. The way of redemption is forceful and slow, but you can ride upon its back if you find redemption’s base: I am trouble I am, and that is a whirlwind, and I turn that whirlwind upon myself, and I open time and fate upon myself, to rack the tools up in inner man to overcome evil with good I’ve paid for myself.
It happened, and I grab you by the hand and show you inner healing’s ways. We are not an accident, and we are bigger than the wrong we have done, and you are bigger than having it done to you. We get trapped in these ways, and we make reality existence either hurting or being hurt, the clash of right and wrong.
How this fools us into little lives that can’t see past their own noses, and we make everything a sin, or we are trying to get to sin. How many can let a child play with themselves and stay out of it? Why you want to stop them or join in. Fuck let’s cut that asunder and just stay out of it. Fuck, you can stay here, or you can allow language to get a little tight to come into these narrow straits of time. It’s difficult to go past your moral boundaries, and the world needs to be saved, and our existence depends up it.
Children need to play with themselves, and men and women need to heal from sin, not punished, not beaten, not be made outcast. You cannot stop evil you can only heal it, and that changes it into something else. We can heal together. We can find the weapons to do that. It’s much deeper than a doctor’s office, deeper than a psychiatry chair, deeper than a religious conversion and any form of prayer.
We have to turn inside out. We have to get to the bottom of things. We have to open our consciousness and get in there to the secret stuff. / We have to get clean, not from sin, from even the desire to hurt and harm. We have to look at each other and know we are more than any me. We have to find the secret Inhabitant that sees out both our eyes, and we both see together that we are one through that gaze.
Man this is reality, who we need to see to survive, and it’s how we heal from hurting people and being hurt, but you have to arrive there not just in belief. It’s to see that Look. We wear time. It doesn’t bury us. It’s not our keeper. It’s not who we are.
The phenomenon is just a wonderful in the All-Look’s gaze. Wonderful we see that, and wonderful we see each other, and a panda is to us the moon and a dog the starry sky. Can you get there? All life has Eyes, and oh the splash of healing there, phenomenal.
Do you want to understand? I can give you all I’ve got. That’s the music in me. You have to be wide enough to take it and not stand in its way. We need to heal time, and are you gonna block that?
Oh look at that swing behind the throw up. It’s how you reach enlightenment my dears. Believe it or not a swing shows up in dreams when you approach it. It’s a force that takes you like the spiral, and you literally swing. How about that habitat? Nothing can get in the way. You’ve got to swing all the way there. Your life will proportion this out to you. You get closer, and you move further away, swinging back and forth until you get high enough to arrive.
Do you see how tall you are? The symbol of dream has shown you up close your waking life approach, time’s secret here I’ve shown to you. If you do anything, habitat this truth when it comes out.
Am I allowed to continue? Why thank you I appreciate that. The little swing of enlightenment people, how we tell time what we are.
This poem began where Death went off his office, and it revealed. It’s beginning to baby us, political allies. About exit, what does it reveal today? We’re not safe in our own shoes. Death is the beginning of misery.
I kill myself from the beginning I bet. It’s a written, a written piece of paper. Now I left coins of me, shekels, splashes of time, in your jukebox. They’re horrible. It didn’t work. I could not write my name in the sky.
Just how do you do? I’m small pittens for small fare, smaller than that. I just do your head in, don’t I? Come talk to me I’m worth? And you don’t. [The sound of laughter here] You’re the wrong people. You’re not wearin’ soul shoes.
This is message for the times today. We did love. We’ve lost some trying to get it in there now. What in the hell’s a matter? It’s the go car looking for enlightenment brown. Make alright boy that’s it cut the track. Just need to think your love can speak. [sing line] Freedom caring, just need to think. Some of it has been miracles in the room. [sing line] One at a shot have a world education. [sing line] He’s called a creature of a dying world job, little until tea tomorrow. You’re getting good at it. Leadership is worship. Bake down, ask about your soul technology. Become immortal.
Before my life was over, I want to find what my life was in. I’m normally ask that, if I haven’t given up on life. Would you lay with me [sing line to tune of song of that name] all over this answer? It’s not a field of stone. It holds us all in tight keeping, but it’s not the angel in the room. This is pre-God ladies and gentlemen. Can you hacksaw that?
I’m getting deep into society’s ways. I’ve just found Spirit, the first covering of the Unknown. It’s how we have being. It’s where we come from. A great big Spirit wears everything. It fashions God. We’re getting into preexistence ladies and gentlemen, when only the Formless arise. Can you imagine nothing as its sailboat?
What’s the rule of this ship? Don’t fashion nothing. Expand into global waters. Make existence be to pronounce Itself. Spirit is the first form it wear, that makes for us souls. It’s aligned with God, but it’s not God. It’s the soul, the basic who we are.
You can touch that ship in intimate contact, feel it ride the wherewithal of your day. It can take over and rubs your belly with sweetness, and you are charged for awhile with everything’s honey. You see the soul in things.
How can you do this in a concentration camp, in the worst hell on earth? That’s the soul of the ages in bare bones reality giving you eyes to see. Overcoming physical pain is one thing. Watching cruelty mark the Earth, devour babies, and we’ve gotten down to the purpose of soul: don’t let it in, the despair.
The soul can get you out of this, even in the midst of it's bear. We are a sublime soul range, God gave us Savitri reads, and this is down on earth. We tarry there. The soul is completely out of this picture, the whole fortnight of evil takes our ship. The soul is not responsible for sin. It loads up our day with the honor we give one another for being the Itself to Itself, and we feel sweetness everywhere and principles of joy.
This can break in on us in the hell we have made of our lives, or what others have made us suffer. It can even break the dull routine of the days. It can be in ordinary and lift on you extraordinary in every mode you wear. There’s no end to the soul’s keeping. It’s the basic ground of everything. It’s goodness rides the high seas. It has so much feeling for everyone. A plant is to it existence and little dogs so lovingly looked upon. It can hold matter in its hand, and you don’t want to bruise that ship either. You’re careful with everything. You have respect for the Earth. You are never out of love, even when you see society’s nigger, the people we are allowed to hate.
I can’t fashion this for you. The soul is a mystery you know, but I can tell you how to do it, reach for soul, let it in. You grasp it all the time in bridges you wear. It’s the most common thing in life, coming upon your feelings, and you feel so alive with everything, and you want no harm done to the aliveness in front of you. You feel the pain of the Earth, the sorrow, disguised as your own or your close neighbor’s, and you grasp your loved ones to yourself and be good to them. You feel ranges of Spirit right there in your baked pie.
A moment of eternity has looked in on you, and you feel sublime with the Earth. You hold them with your children, these feelings, or your best friend’s face, and you love to pet your dog with them like you’re petting moon time. You want to protect everything don’t you? And you put down your enmity for a minute.
Can we range there, take those feelings to the sky? We can sure get along there, if we try. There’s more to soul science you know, but I’m trying to get you started on thin ice. We don’t know how to handle the world. It ruins our day, even when we’re drinkin’ with it, but we are not left out of soul. It envelopes everything, and when existence can be anything, the soul is there first a witness, then a power to bring the soul round to things, and you just have to grasp it in what I’m saying now.
Is everything okay? Is everything alright? I wear society like a sleeve, and they do not worth me in it, not even my own kin. I am left apart by everybody. Few call my name. I’m treated well by Douglas and a few others. My child cannot call my name, and though he is living I cannot see him. I live in isolation, bearing pain. I look at the specter of death. I’m in danger of society’s wrath. It sneezes on me.
Have you ever seen the sun and the mysteries of existence? I’ve pulled them out of my pocket. I’m a crash course in reality. I write this to you now in poetry that has never been seen before, and I’m a black bag. Society won’t read me. It spits my name out, never calls it. I want you to recognize this pavilion. I want my boy back and safe, and I want all of you to be safe.
How can one man’s love change the world? If it opens up the eyes of God it can. It can bring us to soul. I rabbit there and show you soul moments, a day or an hour, I can see because I wear. It’s close to enlightenment’s springs, and I refuse this honesty just as much, feeling my pain, my isolation and the loss of my boy, who tells me he’s walking in a void, in secret messages, and he’s lost on himself no light he can see.
I bear these days not as a guerrilla. I return again and again to the house of soul, what I’m lifting up for you to see in a certain light that give us release from pain, and I love you there, even though you give me the cold shoulder, again.
Rushing through a path of ambulance, I participate. I don’t promote my own story. I hand it to you because it’s how I found out things. I’d rather not tell it as honestly as I do. This does not do me good. It gets me ignored, not a poet in good standing, and no one will promote my work, except a fellow poet in Israel I can count on to call my name.
Just at the home of mankind, I’ll have the day at some point, and I’m in your picture of what everything means. For now I want to pass ships. I’m on a mission to get past my own boat. Come get me please. You’ll like what you see.
photo by Lydia, Dylan’s mom, a representative photo: the you in the poem is you, who ever you are, not the kid, or not until he reads poetry
Shooting rifles into the air, that’s my electric snow. It won’t move men. It can’t get at the oil in time that damages us, makes us mean, and I can’t even make you feel better.
Headlong into our joys and pains, into what makes us tick, into together you and me, I come up empty of the value of our ship where you whistle on board.
I don’t know how to reach the other side, where I’m not a page in oneness, but I’ve crawled under your bedcovers, and I’m up against your body safe. Tell me how to do that.
I spill myself. I just pour my guts out, and darlin’ you get enough of that. You aren’t gonna lie to me I know I reach your bed or not. I can hold innocence in my hand, but I can’t rub myself with you with it, but I can’t find that spot on you you take it.
Dang blast it stars, it’s not all about the body, but that’s where we meet each other in person. I’m tryin’ to say we can still do the value in verse of the sincerity meeting you.
It’s the secret of poetry. It’s my hand in yours as you dally with your own. I find you there my sweetness givin’ your kids a bath, takin’ your dog for a walk, liftin’ your mind to the skies in anticipation of more there be. Oh honey boogers, can we swing together?
I think you’ve found your verse, Eastern were able to read. There’s a piss on your blacklist. Guess what ladies and gentlemen, a rowboat, and there appears on your ears deeper meaning.
You think you’re too weird for our TV? You’ve touched hearts, you know? But the chorus rings out— how did it happen? How did you do anything at all? [sing this and above line] It’s about how to hold life at bay when we’re in a very physical intimacy. My official model is bliss. This will be call master.
image by the author, Earth in space public domain via Wikipedia
The world is at the skid point. We are so caught in this movie we can’t even see beyond. Tell me you don’t care. Tell me you’re hangin’ out clothes to dry, and your little one’s screamin’, and that’s just big stuff on TV. Got caught in the movies. I know you ache at night, just about to spill it all, everything you know about the world but don’t. You don’t know what to make of it it holds you so close.
Can we climb out of this? We can sure get lost in it. Will you play with me? I’m a poet from Skid Row. No I’m not a drinker. I’m a free world thinker, and I want the world to last longer than its appointment in the annuals of our sun. I’m with you on that. I want to outlast the sun where I know I can be happy.
Have you ever seen the world up close? It’ll finger your dickens. No, no I’m not talkin’ about the rovin’ mania all around yah— the whole teeming world as an entity in front of your face. Got boxes and spring cards, but it’s the real McCoy.
I don’t know if you know what I’m talkin’ about yet. I scrap it off my shoe no. This is a divine appointment in time, the world as an organization that brings God on earth, and we can’t get over the word divine. I’ve lifted up your skirt and showed you religious offerings. I mean an intelligence bigger than the skies that can fit in our green Earth and bring it to the next level. You think of the universe as a flat individual organization, but the many levels of the universe go beyond the universe, and I tell yah Earth is scheduled for that.
I’m far from the clothesline now, but that screamin’ kid, I’ve gotten into his ache. We want a better world, expressive of need, and the world as an organization can do that, be unto our need. It’s flat and big everywhere we look today, but have you met the world yet? That’s what I’m tryin’ to say so that it matters, so that we can get bigger than ourselves, knowin’ the world’s done with livin’ for your kin.
Bigger than any national flag, the world is our step-brother that needs to know its name spoken on your lips. Oh no Mohammad you don’t own the world, nor Jesus Christ, and certainly not Hindu or Buddha, and the Jewish people will not rule the Earth. We’re all gonna get goin’ to see the world in each of us, to understand its nature bigger than the machine.
Are you with me on this? I think you’ll fight me some, until we realize Earth’s got an appointment in blue skies, and we will all revel in it, giddy with the realization of harm’s end. Do you know that cost? Can you turn around and see the world today? Flabbergasted can you see it?
A step-mother, seven kids, and digital shock, can you grab that? Help me chase it to we meet the world there. I’m not horseplay. I’m the world looks in on you, not the teeming multitudes, the world as a being in front of you in time, and I’m travelin’ a poet to forgotten shores, what a seer give society, its determining wings, how it lays out itself and what it be's. It’s the arms of society to tell you the truth. You must not let that little you. It’s the One looking in on itself. You’re the One. I am really here for you.
Now sing along. You can’t fool me anymore by your nonchalance. I know the score. You can’t shoot me anymore either. I know what I’m about, and even dead I’ll know it, and so will my poetry.
Open up in there. There can be no losers. Bite into something hard. Stare into something new. I gave you the congressional service. No shame in that. A wardrobe you know you can catalogue here take this self: we’re goin’ to the end of society as the machine.
Sheltered animals move and breathe. They just don’t get away. What was defeated in Mexico? Waiting by the bomb. You’re encountering that work’s envitalment, and you can’t get out of it. Best documentary That Worked. What are you doin’? Getting our own hands dirty in blowing up the machine, a long action that we can do without war or blowin’ people up or shooting them down. Here I am doin’ it don’t you see?
Never mind the behavior they stopped us from realizing it. What was that membership? Blowin’ up the world in I don’t care, oh no. I’ll give you as much as possible to farm time freedom from the machine.
Love, it actually gave us tomorrow, is the active ingredient. I find that news with anything. It’s real and normal if you realize you have met the world out during the day in every box you’ve met today, in every pair of eyes staring out at you, all of it, the whole damn show.
Special thanks for this moment— Bruno. At his side, he getting a life-saving blood transfusion, I wrote the poem
The most gates at society, hey! Propped on the sand in an eurythmic sweet sense, I look at humanity in raw oysters. There’s nothing there that makes us rise above our bull. We get decimated sometimes, and the humility lasts an hour. I don’t understand all this mess. It’s popcorn and candy to our sense of self tryin’ to prove our worth to one another. Look how big I am, and we can say that so subtly. I mean look at me will yah?
Can we spend this? It’s expensive not to see. I count this in humanity in everywhere I wait, in all the plays of the crowd. I want to get bigger than myself. Little everybody treats me, and I’m offended in my self-wears, and little I am. I can’t seem to see this when I’m in a fight. I don’t know how to handle it when I’m spellbound. Can I list my achievements please? Can I show you my worth, again?
Do I have to eat lunch with myself again? You’re not listening to me. If I was two I’d pitch a fit. That’s where I learn to get you to pay attention to me. I get expert at it by the time I’m twelve, and then all hell breaks loose, and I’m just shit-canned again, too old to get my way. Is that when the braggin’ starts? I have got to show you I’m worth, but I’ve lost all the old ploys, and I’m doin’ it again, wantin’ you to validate my self-worth the modicum of humanity.
Is that all turned on to kick-start our humanity, the pedestal I preach to you? Wow, I can sound so good in words. Do I hide behind my writing I knock down every word I say in some pinch or another that my hypocrisy wears? The hypocrisy of others stuns me. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere on the planet. There is no accountability for it.
Wow do I read sweet words. Can you solve the problem with love without love? You just get likes for it. Nowhere does it bring social change. The social understanding that you’re the victim too, my God that’s the pants we wear. Get people arrested will yah? That’s all you’ve done. You’ve crime and punishmented the thing. Everybody gets mad at people. It’s how you social change, with a baseball bat, but we can’t hypocrisy our way out of this. Love has to be love or it’s not love. Understanding holds you sweet. It doesn’t embarrass you in front of the crowd.
Where do we go with our social understanding to see the lies arise in everybody where we find our brotherly love? Can you understand that? I can’t cover this. I can’t even say it. You just write beautiful words. You don’t mean them, and there’s no way to show you you don’t. You’ve got that covered. You can’t see them in the arms they wear. You can make yourself sound pretty good, but unconscious springs get yah when the spell of your unconscious arise and offers your behavior to meanness.
There is not a day I don’t encounter this in somebody. You’ve encountered a rat in everything society says about me. The principles of love and pray don’t apply here, and you have permission to shoot me in your thought, and that’s a release mechanism like all society wears. If I even say the name you’ll hate me, and there is no way out of this.
I could have done a better poem and kept my social status out of this, but we can’t spend your hypocrisy on nothin’. You’re just bruise your shield in that unspeakable name. Now where you at? I don’t think it’s in loving shares. Oh you do your family alright, a satellite I, but to love humanity you must wear everything in humanity you hate, identifying with that behavior. It don’t come out any other way, the principle in your subconscious communicating that spell “oh I’ve encountered someone I don’t like,” and in the roles of identity you have to know you’re there: I am humanity. This gets larger than everybody, but you can’t find it without accepting everybody.
The roles are mean, even in children, and I need to see this in myself, and I bridge it that way to its appropriate goodness. You hear this now. I’m taking myself and getting myself out of the way, not for any humanity worth, not so you can see me. I just want to be myself, okay, the actual me, the thing I am behind the play, not yet angel wings, but the natural me that’s not stuck to anything that can afford to be nice because nice is what it does our human soul, and nary a subconscious spell can touch it, no matter where you meet life.
The basement’s all cleaned out, and this comes down from on high, if you want to know the truth of it. You can’t just declare your love. You have to raise it up out of you in the skeletons you wear. Can you get my pen rose? Can you hear it please? You have to get down and dirty and clean, at least in the eyes you wear. Whatever you do, see it.
I’m gettin’ down to the natural colors of my room. Do you hear that? Look at yourself some mirror. Roles involved with sweetness, and you’re being bigger than the heys of the crowd. Just don’t recognize that’s where you want mental health to go. Good for her, good for him, take advice.
Real life forum for the discussion of school peace, a brick, that brick has something to do with you. We don’t wanna do it, continue, and we face certain destruction. Death is ever on our knee, and the world fail is in the picture now. A sudden storm could kill us. We are never safe, and we just explode all the time, come to hope and then crash, come to bay and then sink.
If you are left out of this loop, eventually your cross will come. We are not safe from crisis, and we are manipulated to star’s end over the avoidance of such. Some have good fingers, some no. Just look out for what’s right. You have it all the time, in some speaker in your room.
The avoidance of death is not possible, but we can make peace with our time that comes. We can ground ourselves in reality, and we can even see what’s ahead, and if there’s disaster ahead, well this is the crux of the matter ain’t it? We don’t want the suffering to kill us. We have to find a solution, or chaos reigns.
And what of prolonged disaster? I have been rejected by society like men on death row, and there is no way to climb out of this hole. It’s pleasant enough. I live in a bright home, and no one will see me there. I’m not value to anyone except whom I can count on one hand. This is deliberate and mean. It’s not the normal social isolation. So shoot me for it and let’s move on.
I’ve measured humanity in my bare hands. I have been to the top and the bottom of this old world. I commune with spirits and the impossible. I have seen things you don’t want to see, and I’m not talkin’ murder and mayhem. I’m talking about the fresh expression of the universe ploughin’ us down to make its see, how the Gods sit in their homes and use us as dice in their gambles on the world, and we get crushed, and how God watches too big to help. We are at a certain level of universe that pay the price. We sit on Heaven’s back the sustenance it needs to survive.
I have found a way out of this. I have found the truth of who we are, and it’s a slow movement’s crawl to the goal, when this is time on earth. I’m not filling you with hope I’m filling you with seeing. We are bigger than all that. We are outfielders from another universe that encompasses this one. We abide there now on our tops.
I’m speaking from there in the knowledge I give. It’s clear and certain knowledge, and it will open up the whole world to you one step at a time. It will mitigate disaster, break in on it and help you rise above it. It will sit with you at night and hold your hand. We are a dream weaver’s store lost in our dream, and it’s a collective dream that we share together, and we will wake up together when the time comes. That’s the certainty of dream.
Now can I honest myself here? I’m a pauper when it comes to Earth’s stuff, but I’m rich in meaning’s worth. I’m a brink in the wall that is us, but you can take me out and see time, remove me and see beyond the universe. I crumble in my own hands, and even in my tears, if I cannot feel the joy on my tops, I know it’s there.
I have given formulas for world change, and they go by unnoticed. I have laid practicality at philosophy’s door, given psychology wings, and taken the big questions and answered them right in front of your nose, and the mind meets understanding, and I’m just this existence worth that has no place among you. You think so?
I’m gonna dictate mission impossible. With all due respects, can we land society here, I’m conducting a sense of sacrifice where I meet the world? I’m writing this with a déjà vu. Even if you have not had your lives torn asunder, do not find yourself in hell on earth, or smell that awful stench near, can you make ends meet, support yourself and your family and not have to struggle all the time?
I’m talking to the great majority of mankind. Oh my God, poor people gonna rise up, get their share. [sing this and above line, tune “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution”] Can I sing to you another song? It’s the only way to be human on this planet, whatever your religion or creed or nationality. We temper our hearts with a sense of sacrifice. I’m talkin’ to the captains of business and all who make a profit sting.
You can tax the rich all day, and you haven’t met them in their homes, where they need to see their lives are propped up on so much suffering. Cynical people don’t need me I know, and people that run over other people to make them pay are not interested in changin’, but do we have to back them up in society and pretend it’s not happening, the great rape of mankind?
Yep there is. It’s everywhere apparent, and politicians take off our shoes and show us other stuff. Can any responsible journalist hear me, concerned teacher in school, professor? Preacher from your pulpit look at this, temple master. Can we talk about sacrifice in business as a way to heal humanity, / discuss this every day where politicians get our vote, where the rich see TV and governments listen?
Why is world fail? No matter who you blame it on it always comes down to this: somebody’s getting rich at the expense of others, at the expense of the environment, at the expense of us. It’s not a hole in one each time, and there are other factors, but tell me this one has no bearing on today’s world. Tell me it’s a trivial matter. Why aren’t we talking about it where we rise up and make social change?
I’ve put this in your hands right alongside the transcendent, how we get by in this place. I’ve put it right alongside social justice, without mentioning punishment or the price of beer, I mean sex roles and how you spend them. I’m givin’ yah things to talk about in a voice that matters. I’m showin’ you what’s up. Thank God I’m lost on social media. Just think if word got out. Mainstream do you hear me? I’m lettin’ the cows out. I’m lettin’ the rich hear me. I’m taking social justice by the wings.
What is the formula for world change? C-o-m-e t-o t-h-e t-y-p-e r-o-o-m. Your typewriter to write it. Eternity is a crossing reference for the that’s how the book of love. [sing line from the word that’s] So much more beyond our horizons. I’ve been up there you know, on our tops, and I’ve failed you. I just kept goin’ in an old movie and racked up my isolation today, again and again. Bless you I’m sorry.
Sacrifice is the only way to meet these things: you have to have it, and it hurts other people. Nothin’ you could do but give that up: boy I hurt you. This lasts a long time, where you find others lookin’ at yah funny and suspicious of your every move. You will not be rewarded for sacrifice.
Get that through your thick head if you’re making a profit on people’s pain. Turn philanthropist I’m sorry, and you’re givin’ till it hurts because you love them so, well that’s tough idn’t it, no one believes you. You’re still around money.
But you’ve come a long ways, and you’re not doin’ this for the praise of the crowd. That’s hypocrisy. You sacrifice your Wall Street for love. I can’t tell you how to do that, fall in love with everybody, and with some people it will never work, but you at least learn to identify with them. It does start with empathy, and then it goes through spiritual change. You see the oneness danglin’ everywhere, and you want to make it right with all there is. I guess that’s the stoppin’ point for this poem: let’s begin that shall we?
All since childhood I went busy with it, the message I’m supposed to give of another. It makes for short poetry. Where are my feelings for me? It’s been the subject of my lifetime. Self-centered rides there, but so does a vantage point to study life, the name of existence on my lips. I can only see me as the protagonist of this drama, only imagining what it’s like to be another. That’s not self-centered fact.
I live here: watching the world go by the center of myself. You do too, and I’ve found this out myself: our integers are the same. What makes a person a person fills both our bottles and crashes them at the same time.
The social hierarchy will not let me poet to you the discovery we are the One. I cannot wear a poet label because I have not yet been given it by the crowd, and I bleed to tell you things.
I’ve been all over this place, climbed the mountaintop, sojourned in hell. I have been on broad rivers of mankind, and I have suffocated in stinking swamps. I have entered duality to wear them both till kingdom come, and then I get saved by the bell. Reach inside me and see I’m writing the papers of existence, and I help existence be.
I’m fighting for my room. You cannot harbor the truth, the truth of anything in its bare-bones reality. They will get you for it, the powers that be. Reality is being fed to us on a silver platter with cyanide, and we all believe the lies.
I’m easy to take down. I’m the most hated scapegoat of the day, but that opens up truth in a man, having to face himself to society’s mirror, and you are sincere to the test. It can open up worlds of seeing. It can make you love humanity when your self-love has joined the same.
We stand on great big tests today that eat our lunch. Never a lie’s been told, the dinjins will tell you and mothers and fathers all over this land and governments and snake pit operators. Oh my little child you are safe in how we rule things. You must dog eat dog and get out there and compete for bread. It’s greatness of your kind. The devil dance on a great mankind, and we will go to war to prove it.
Now let me tell you somethin’. It’s all subterfuge. We are avoidin’ what makes Tommy safe, Wendy grand. We have to flower in our room to humanity my dear, find the Self in everyone, and let that be our guiding light to discovering God lookin’ at the world through our eyes in the fullness of his vision here on earth. I just told you the truth, what’s happenin’ in the evolution of time on earth, in the world play we’re all a part of. That’s the secret that all existence hides. Can’t you see it yet?
photo by the author taken in a secret five minute meeting with Nithish nine months ago
I’m fighting stars. I have no idea I can’t do anything unless my muse reads it to me. You are the couch existence sits on to write. Still hasn’t found you able to write anything. Here, do this circle.
No matter what I say, no matter what I dream, I can’t get rid of those institutes that go against the grain of society in compelling posts. I have been left without my boy and wondering if he’s better off without me. I am bereft of hope, and this is bigger than my boy. Is the whole thing a tin can?
Is existence squeezed out of existence by the Diamond Bearer? Is this all a charade, and even God himself can’t stop cryin’? Is there a safe harbor anywhere, a safe place? I’m talkin’ existence big.
Thank you I’m smart and can see the ruse in everything, even my own ruse. I can’t change my consciousness to save my life, and I know what change means. Are the roads to Supermind blocked by Supermind? Is enlightenment just a scare? What gives?
Do you know how fucked up everything is? Do you know how big it is, the screw in everything? We can’t climb Mount Everest with that. We are foiled by cliff hangers, and we can never reach the top, and in the history of poetry I have to explain to you symbolism. Nothing gets out of my bag.
Do you know how tall that is? I’m meaning’s worth, and I keep reaching holes in my story. I don’t understand all that is, but I know Gods play with us, and there really are monsters under the bed. Can you see my daily life?
Bigger than being it arrives from distant shores, the very breath of being, and it gets there all the time, in our underwear. I cannot move this molestation. Are we fucked from the very first? There’s a hole in the program. Whatever it is that uses us for existence is unhinged? That’s how the story grows?
What guarantee do we have that it is safe? Are we existence’s pall bearers? Alright arouse my pen are we safe from the universe? I question everything. In the horror of day to day living, living where peace finds us and goodwill, you can’t condemn it all to understand. You can’t even breathe.
Do you know we eat bread together on the inside, and I am you and you are me? That’s the joke ain’t it, we spit on that. I’m goin’ somewhere, even if I don’t believe it sometimes. I’m tryin’.
There I am on cars, and I carry the world around all day a poet’s worth. I have these great big thoughts that ground. I mean I’m a scout for the human race really involved with you. I question my own worth, but that’s not throwin’ myself away. I work in the engine room of humanity, and I don’t even think you know there’s there, for what it’s worth.
We haven’t found ourselves yet larger than our own personal skulls, dangnabbit. I’m a shopping spree of the limits of ideas. I can do it, get out there where no thoughts are, and I can hold existence in my hand. Is that a safety rope? I’m gettin’ underneath things not because I have to because I love you, and we can figure you my little boy.
I witness the safety ground, and I’m lookin’ for it in the large eyes he wears, and I could just tear my heart out, you know?
I have the living room in my hand, and I got a shot at Earth lead me to him. That’s the death of a unicorn has almost swallowed him whole, and he don’t know how to feel right, my little boy.
I’m comin’ upon him now. I’m placing a wall. I thought for a brief time there’s no doubt about it this is what he wants to flower with me.
You can’t lose your job. James, I’m tellin’ yah the truth. You will have his little hands in yours again, right there on bright Earth, where the Earth makes sense. You’re fillin’ a role in the sky.
I didn’t allow there’s monumental change ahead. What happened? It’s alright— monumental impact. Well here’s the movie here’s the camera, and I’ve got ‘im, I’ve got ‘im in my pocket. [sing this and above line] Can this be like all played out?
Wide God, did he actually go to touch that? No, he resurrected Tommy another poet live on earth; another poet rides the Earth.
With over the top crime get a modern classic. Are you a surgeon? Oh my God, you’re a baseball bat. The look behind the ship is very primitive. There’s mom and pop and the show and the school bag. There’s the policeman with his gun, the psychologist with her table. Society is not challenged in its moving parts. We are blamed on social media.
A kid kills then what? The repercussions of society. We do not see where his crime came from, like there’s a killer in everyone waiting for social media. Children will take a knife and stab someone, and they are perfectly normal. Where did his rage come from? He wasn’t beaten at home.
Adolescence doesn’t show this. It can’t. They were construing society to make it say something it doesn’t. Crimes do come out of the woodwork, but with the attention to detail on this one, this was aimed at social impact. Perfect television The Guardian says, and they convened with Parliament.
They wanted to get a point across they said. I don’t know was that toxic masculinity? It makes kids kill. They really hate Andrew Tate, but do kids act like that, divorce from themselves and murder someone if they aren’t already predisposed? Can we see the answer here?
I don’t think we can see nothin’ but what the producers want us to see / and want society alarmed. It’s propaganda beautifully done. You can’t argue with it, but I can do more than that.
Let’s put a kid’s genitals on the screen. What happens in adolescence? The biggest thing in their lives, gargantuan wears. Their genitals have needs society doesn’t recognize. That thing growin’ between their legs, openin’, pulsating, it won’t leave them alone. They have to do something with it, but they’re not allowed.
They get tripped up with masturbation because it’s an ashamed text. Some parents guard against that, some societies. Never is it okay on the news. Now let’s turn the volume up, and they have to. Can you admit a sexual need?
Why is it normal for a 13-year-old boy to just stay away from vulvas and the tits of some girl he likes? Why is normal for her to refuse him? Okay we don’t want unwanted babies and disease, but what is your beef with them touching each other? They’re budding all over the place, and that’s only arming them for the institution of marriage years from now?
What they can’t they touch each other? Is it all a fear of sex brinin’ babies along? Have you met a one yet that did not come from intercourse in the intimacy of two people? Yes marijuana leads to heroin I know, but children fumblin’ with each other, children not older teens, are just not that competent, you know?
And maybe we could mitigate that with better education, and all through growin’ up their genitals were not squashed. We have to keep adults off them, but other children no. It leads to a safe society, letting little Johnny express his gun, little Suzie what she’s got. Do you know where sexual disease comes from? Squash a kid’s genitals and see. So many social ills come from there. Adolescence can you see that, or are you just too ripe blind?
Can we get to the human drama of the thing, the confusion of a child all alone growing up. No matter how many people around them, the scuttlebutt of their mates, they outgrow their skins, you know? And they’re punished for it. We have no outlet for them. We make them toe the line, stuff them in school, sports and whatnot, and regulate all their time.
They’re gettin’ hair down there and unspeakable urges, but there’s still monsters under the bed, and they can still rock with a teddy bear. They wanna be held at night if they’d admit it, and in everything they look at they just want to be loved. Do you feel that?
What do we do to make it right? There’s so much we’re not doin’ I can’t turn on the light for you. There’s a space a garden I said, and we’re worms in it tillin’ the soil. We haven’t opened our books yet and reviewed the hidden skies or walked across our dreams at night. We can’t see consciousness in our book and we share it all, and how we all sit together in time hidden identities of one another. You look at the outer book and fail with the tribe of children.
You don’t know how to meet them in the bigness of their thoughts. You give them grocery lists and jobs to do, and you entertain them awhile, but can you reach them where their soul touches earth? Can you take their hand and lead them past rainbows and hidden splendors to discover their purpose in time?
You don’t know what I’m talking about, and I’ve breached it again, your idea of society, but you will take a child and throw them in jail, whatever you call the detention center, and rub their nose in their crime, and you call that good society, and the protection of children leads here? Get tough on them they're kids who’ve committed crimes. It’s the only way you deal with crime since the beginning, takin’ an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth or as close as you can get with make them suffer in prison. Can we get outta here? It doesn’t the ramrod Adolescence.
Some weird stuff I’ve blighted you with, I’ve put on your phone, and you will just ignore me again. I’m talking to the public. I don’t get the reach of Adolescence. It’s spurred you on to make social change where kids watch social media. Meanwhile your hand is down their pants terriblin’ their teenager, and I’ve used an analogy don’t get mad. You are not right with them, and you know it.
All you give to them is the machine, the dissatisfied lives you wear, the boredom that rich people wear. I’m goin’ through the roof. Want to join me?
A TV show called Adolescence, a molten band, you’ve all been fooled. It doesn’t solve anything. It only makes you cry. It doesn’t even identify society as what’s wrong with us. What social media show us, all our fault lines. Get rid of the looking glass yes, and go back to newspapers and television sets, so’s they’re not so visible to us.
A kid will consider it. If you’re not too busy with your life, if you hold their hand there, no Nazis present or policemen, you can wrap their hand around social media where we make a better world, even watchin’ Andrew Tate videos or the mean Vegan Teacher. You let them chose the material, and then you engage them there. Am I spittin’ out fluff? I’m giving you the history with my kid, until the TV show went off the air, the tragedy that showed me adolescence’s fall.
Harm's End 