The Settling Stone a Carve

The Settling Stone a Carve

Made images out of light.
Feed them to this world.
Beat me.
I’m a meeting of soul wings.
It doesn’t bother me.
Use your head.
Reflected on the walls of the mirror.
In any event,
where I sit and represent God.
That’s the power lines.
What compassionate consideration.
It’s like he loves himself.
He’s the photographer you see,
the photograph,
all these images,
the poem,
pure,
not an ounce of color.
Do you see the address?
It’s in the face of everything.

An Audience Song

I took this at the theater of Alliance Française in Pondicherry and developed it in our darkroom

An Audience Song

Poetry enhances
our little corner of life’s room.
It’s what we splash on our faces
to get the stories out.
You would contradict this song.
That’s the mystery.
And we look at an iceberg,
it roses from the ground.
Underneath it stalls in light.
A brief ocean
has rounded in our ears
the equity
of a larger see than ours.
Alimony this payment
to that stuff in us
at noontide’s sing.

I’ve rounded poetry.
You hear the contradiction?
It’s a blistery see
with what ails yah,
the exuberance
of a state of being
laughing at the stars.
It’s a transaction
between you and sight
that calls all what you don’t see
into play.
I measure my life by it
one poem at a time,
a poet in my room
attended by verse itself.
You are my audience
lines of poetry.
What people there
the contradictory note,
the flowers of which I speak.

The Killer Find

The Killer Find

In whatever comes our way.
After eighteen seasons it’s so funny though.
I bet you
I responded.
Leave the characters alone.
We’re windows,
pure margin.
We’ve a back part.
Halfway finished you want to throw me away.
Who me?
It was hard gave him a lawyer.
This is a transcendent poem.

Wait a minute,
is my life short?
Barely here.
It seems you don’t want to think for the psychopath.
You tell me.
His therapists are his words:

I don’t come down easy.
I’m a middle man.
I like killing.
You can see it in their eyes when you shoot them:
life has meaning.
I’m instructed to go.
Good girl.

Limitation’s my ink.
I can’t express the dying word.
My favorite is the surprise face.
They look at me so dumbly.
Maybe it would sound better if you play with it.
Who?

I’m laughing in front of their house.
I will take whatever I want.
You give it to me.
I’m not drowning.
I’m a full on power.
Your life gives me whatever I need.
Your life is my answer to life’s boredom.

Man, I’ve had to please,
grovel up to the paycheck.
Man I’m big.
They don’t know what power has come their way.
The person I kill sees my importance.
That’s the way the Gods speak to you sister.
With me have some understanding.
No, I haven’t found Them.
But I will put on after.

It’s gonna be tough
To get him outta there.
There’s the joy of the free ride.
Oh I’m sorry,
The police found your tracks.
I come distinct from them.
You are their calling card.
Some of them,
your attitude they share,
though on a different path.
You kill to fulfill delight.
They do under the guise of duty.
It’s a humiliation law code.
They don’t actually need to kill.
Yeah you know it.

Released from crime,
whose letter’s not interesting or significant,
the psychopath sits in jail and thinks:
contact with other people,
is this the word Kim’s back?
You know all shades of restaurant, right?
I’m glad because you’re going to marry me.
Kim is his split personality.
Kim is slightly easier to get along with.
Kim has a plan in his head:
he can play the game
whilst he’s in prison.

The environment,
the basest emotions are given free reign.
He just erupts on Ginger Ale.
Meanwhile he has a little house
beyond the reason
unfolding in his soul story.
This house beauty knows the price of.
It is beauty’s tool.
Beauty can find this arm.
This is mastery’s circle.
Those in care of him
did we want there?

Let’s not open our mouth wide.
We can keep him right here.
We can do our level best to control him.
No one is pushing us otherwise.
Why isn’t the government doing something for him?
Oh my God I just had the weirdest look.
You batted my elbow.

Let’s call in the hotshots.
Go out searching homes I’m already home.
And what’s this crime carrier do?
He acts as a closing agent.
He solidifies the type.
It’s his mercy in prison.
I’m mean this guy has feelings.
They’re all sharpened up.
You wouldn’t believe how mercy he is.
Oh I know;
I can’t seem to find mine.
You kill that fish.

Gold is one of the most dangerous places.
My wife distributes many mountain climbers.
But you won’t let him see the mountain
nor marry my wife,
a river whose flow is words.
Come in,
No one wants to play babe I’m sorry,
no one wants to play.

That refused my song.
I couldn’t bend in the knees.
This is not to your bureaucrat.
This is to that reach in you
that answers prayer.
Anybody can bow to reach a God.
I’m calling on your special stuff.

What’s the time?
Nine thirty-two.
What’s this I want?
Process change.
You forgive me
the hands call
words you don’t like.
That would mean a different arrangement for his answer.

His body you’ve kept in buffalo tape.
The body is getting just to ten.
With the body move on ahead.
Alright time’s up.
Maybe it was too complicated.
I’m trying to tell you
that there’s a river in that man,
a natural born therapist,
that will take him outside the jail house
a lover of humanity.

It looks better with Me inside the point.
I am divinity in Man.
I am his first answer.
The soul is not a piece of plastic.
It has a divine outgrowth.
It calls My name in secret.
It is My pages heal your story.
I know the ways of the world,
am master of existence.
The universe I hold in the palm of my hand.
Its every movement My gaze understands.
The Sun measures My name,
is a symbol for its splendor.

I sit atop this man and await your law to give way.
He will not find Me on his own.
He cannot cargo that answer.
Necessity will not hold his hand.
Handsome him with love,
make beauty his living room,
surround him with those who know their land,
and from behind the heart My representative will sing to him
all the measures of his life
put into harmony’s window.

Hearing this high speech
the Gods will rainbow their messages.
He will be an open vessel for universal lore.
Healing streams of light will come to him from the stars.
The moon will glow in his notebook.
The darkness inside him will not know where to hide.
It will be vanquished with the coming dawn.
This I can do in him
if you let him see his own worth.

I enter the country late
because this man is a monster to you,
and you will not see him home.
Now use lovelier powers
to bend his knees,
ones that call from the house of love.
You have grappled him down in hate.
What a wooden start.

Kid, you murdered a family.
This is who we kill.
All wrapped up in mourning
the family lies slain.
Existence has been robbed of its joy.
That loved one’s face stole the sun.
Madness crawls on their hours threatening touch.

What’s the matter?
My temple is gone.
Here is life’s sweetheart.
We bridge reality with this,
a smile that passes by?

Our loved ones are borrowed customers.
They are characters in a plot.
They sooth our need awhile and move on.
We think them a reality’s ship.
One little curtain closed can undo our lives.

What management is this?
What fools we are prey to death.
The heart has deeper need
than its animal holdings.

We pause here on the brink of life’s meaning.
Wisdom,
it’s applicable;
it’s up to you.

Matter fills every corner.
We cannot surround its view with anything else.
God even is of this make made.
Our understanding of Him is material.
He is a material agent not a spiritual cause
in our view of God acting.
He acts; He moves; He speaks
a material outlook.
God can be otherwise,
but we would have to brush name aside,
see past its formula,
the useful path,
to something larger than name.

There’s a family in these woods.
We can bridge the gap to God.
God can wear their face.
Then we begin to be circled by love,
when God wears every face in the crowd.
The loved one is just a familiar particular,
an intimacy we can hold
clasping Him.
Death only rearranges His face.
But God is deeper still.

God has a beckoning plan.
Here, some side paragraphs you should know.
This is deep today.
What are we supposed to do?
Grief, you will have problems there.
Eyes trapped.
Let them know where to stand.
A senseless killing is a teacher still.
Deep it will hold you open to reality.
There is your existence swim:
you can see beyond time.

Life has more fields of study.
We receive again our loved one.
This face in death God wears.
God is a surrounding look.
God is our surrounding cause.
The meaning of life is a parable
these eyes unfold.

My foot’s out.
I can’t keep score.
This poet has found bankrupt as his last measure.
I cannot keep God’s vision in my sight.
These eyes are the toughest to hold.
The Unseen all around us,
the very issue of our existence,
and the world looms larger still.
Our daily bread becomes the story-line,
or a major left in sin.

I had come to speak a word of Silence.
Chaos has erupted in my song.
The killer knows these waters.
He can see no large eye of God.
The world presses in on him
its sideshow of the blind alley scene.
He cannot see out of its dim tale.
Nowhere has he found knowledge close.

All run to a savage dawn.
Man has no larger purpose than this:
there’s a world out there;
take it.
Do it now reads the signs
along the roadsides of his life’s little spurts.
All seek the same need,
a vague point lost in advertising.
War rumors his world.
The daily news is a glowing red
convincing you the world’s on fire,
convincing you of your need to fear.
He can read the papers:
every man for himself.

The good that men call society,
he’d seen its vision’s sweep.
Huddled in a little courtroom called monster
he was its prey.
It hung debasement around his neck.
This was where social disease
spread out into the land.
He banked on this loan.
He hoped no greater glory
than to be the system’s plague.
Society would find death in him.

We can vision out this story.
Its huge eyes cry sight.
Where in this is God’s encircling sun?
In the moment you laid eyes on Him.
Can you top this vision?
No measure knows its score.
Error cannot blind its sight.
Error defines it more.
I mean to put reality above God
it results I cry in my own mess.
God shines through his shiny overcoat.
He can wear a mistake too.
Here in harmony’s reach I can clean it up.
A killer’s no less a man.

One key feature is that sometimes you make a mistake life for.
You’ll have to turn yourself save me.
Another orgy from that.
Okay, alright?
You would threaten?
Up here, alone, encouraged, and again we encounter God.

Wildlife management,
I am a listening shelf.
The soul is not a sword.
It holds us together.
It is our flight suit.
We pull the answer
from behind,
all along our heart’s show.
This is our bank card:
the promise of a better land.

The heart is the particular keeper.
It waits on a pull from the outside
to respond to its purpose.
This is not its better arrangement.
When we close off life’s customers,
when we come together on our own land,
alone in life’s cell,
we can manage its whereabouts,
we can find divinity’s room.

This is our soul keeper,
what banks in us on divine gold.
It makes no commerce with life’s heart.
It cherishes only divine holdings.
Our divine outreach,
where we find divinity’s wings,
is a cavern deep and wide,
a long fall to the reach of it.
The flame that you find there
will be the wonder that you seek.

This is the divine representative in Man,
the soul-flame.
It evolves with our common start.
It waits for union with the soul above,
the divinity we are
high above ourselves.

It is this link,
this psychic fire
literary,
that is our spokesman for healing change.
It sings to us that endeavor.
We know no outer managing overview.
This is our directing circle
we write ourselves.

Help me organize this arrangement
happily furnish the need
a teacher
from divinity’s schoolbook,
a divine name to give you lesson.
It is the soul makes this choice.
Though they seem the Sun itself,
they are not the goal only its keepers.
In time your own Sun will shine through.

I’ve given you direction.
Here you go to process change.
Bring this soul round to the front.
Make the psychic leader of the life.

I don’t know if you understand me but
I’ve shown you where healing can be found.
No, you don’t have to do that,
be under the guidance of a supervising counselor,
attend meetings,
undergo any type of special training.
We receive this change alone.
Those on the outside awaiting results,
they do not deliver the baby.
They are support vehicles.
They help manage our affairs.

You will see the soul is particular.
It does not make the same wardrobe for all,
not exactly,
but it does use
a similar vocabulary of symbols
when it talks to us.
Someone who has passed this bridge
of word-wise
– thank you ma’am –
can give us meanings clear.
You don’t want them to stand around.
A little bit different
than a guide,
they keep their noses out of it.
Their sentence help we need with words and phrases.
The whole we do not give to them.

Now look,
okay I’ve spent
years listening
processing this change.
Keep going.

My sight here seemed to call over completely retractable ideas.
That camera,
comic that look?
Yeah, where is it?
A demon’s laugh is graphic.
Discernment
will be your growth rate.
A divine smile
has a heartbeat.

Listen,
you have a top priority,
a process change.
Lore has not this freshness.
Watch the road here.
It’s wide open.

Come to the river half dry
and you won’t be parched enough to hear it sing.
Dry off before you go in there.
Emotionally wet from the world,
we will hear desire’s holdings
if the ears can find the speech at all.

You know where I stand?
Behind your thought.
It is a trance vision
in the proximity of sleep.
You are awake to hear its call.
Inside the bell tolls.
There is no thought to the arrangement.
Thinking disrupts the process.

I’m sorry if listening stills.
We must accustom ourselves to its strain.
You come to it by degrees.
Your life must quiet to its measure.
The field of your difficulties is the better answer
than the retreat getaway.
You want to hear your problems.
This becomes the greater challenge
and the special key:
you quiet your life in the noise of life,
and you process your change in its tromp and strife.

Mastery has its brand here.
I’m a letter on healing nearing its sum.
The listening smile,
calm it brightens its world.

A summit answer,
we cannot process its plenitude.
There’s something wrong.
We can’t get over our outrage.
Debasement lies squealing.
Our basest reactions hold us here.
The psychopath is only a measure of his world.

Society knows no sitting station.
It has no examining review board.
The pack mentality governs its field book.
Disguised as law and due process,
they wreck havoc on human justice.
If it has become more sensitive,
it is because it is more aware of itself,
but revenge is still our answer to crime.
Our ethics have not evolved beyond this.

I sing to you its appointment,
the beginnings of a nobler race.
This has been a longing since the day we were born.
It has smiled upon us from afar
even when we’re at war.
We know this future ours,
however many disclaimers the times show.

I’m telling you it’s cold out there
in this waiting room of today.
Wait until you see society’s sharp teeth.
Then you understand.

Every once in awhile we’ll get a call from them,
the seekers after goodwill
as the governing agent of society.
They have each given formula –
medicine.
This medicine watch it,
it’s not applicable in time.
Its feet do not touch the hours.
It relies to heavily on outer stress.

We capitulate to the call
of that greater need within,
our hearts calling in stillness
to the reach above,
a medicine we long for.

Being a moment on change,
wonderful that outlook.
Human divinity,
it’s applicable.
Each holds this in store.
The time will bring it home to all of us.
Here, it is within reach.

How can you cry without salt?
What a grim life thou hast gotten a hold of.
They left building a city aside.
They arranged for killing room.
They can’t habit this gown.
Prison has them standing still,
a monster without a head to eat.

We review your killing.
It got menopause.
You deny our circle of trust.
I am the divine buoy in your harbor.
You are rich with sea salt,
carry the load of your number of kills.

There in the sudden door you find him.
It was in a back alley wasn’t it?
He had barbecued his drink.
Death stained his blood.
He said such stupid things.
He was black water.
You burned his ease.
It was a hollow kill.
He wasn’t straight on.
That laughed in your notebook.
We wasted your hour.
You cannot feel what you have done.
Pity you should remember him.
This felt not your power.
Pity you understand.
Well I…

Let’s leftover this man.
He was not in harmony’s circle.
He thought that you had won.
Death took him by the hand.
He understood at once the reason for beers.
The light brought him out of it.
He’d paid his green card.
There he lay still.
It was a meditative dawn.
His glory is your surprise.
Can you see past dawn?
You thought you’d murdered hope.

We journey to rivers.
This man will see his private hell.
Burdened with this autopsy
hope could lay its hands on him.
Such is the river’s run.
And there we pass out his trust.
On the inside we work a slow outer change.
The epiphany will one day see the Sun.

Put their sleep to school.
I listen.
Only after they come up with
the only answer to life:
grow.

Who am I going to come back to?
Not oven.
Meditative answers are coming.
I give you a lot to think about.
What are we looking for?
You’re in the bigger place.
You want to learn how to study bottom answers,
have a heart in the darkest part,
in feeling catch on.
I take a photo album with me,
those I operated upon.

Find the big change.
It’s in your river bed.
I leave it in your notebook.
You can fieldwork this change,
make it come out.
Guidance your river brings.

This is a crawl hole,
your insistent hostility.
Understand it as other then you.
Understand it as an attitude.
You can pencil it out.
This you have to hold at bay.
It will lessen by degrees.
When we indulge it,
operation,
the killing room,
or you just wait for the next victim.

This has us all bottled up inside.
A river can wash it down.
Hey look, come here.
I’m not going to get you for this.
If I ask you
throw it out,
can you do that?
A river answers why
hostility you answer.

Shrimps are eating politics.
That was your father years ago.
Hey children is disturbing.
Can’t live in the greenhouse.
I’ve got a lower angle.
I get physical.
Grab you by the neck I can.
Murder I wrote in the air around you.
You seemed to slip by love.
You had no comforting arm.
Life was a bare blade
to your infant heart.

We meet selfishness from even mother’s hands.
Can you hit the ball?
Some many things to watch.
What so many things?
Your environmental scorecard and your world review,
the inside does what in their presence?
The meaning lay behind the words.
Jump to its scaffold.
How many visions see red?
I can climb down in importance.
Place the notebook in sky hands.
Climb it to the top of the equation.

Believe me,
that’s what it’s coming to,
that high place.
And remember,
You are a spirit.
God is the value of it.

You almost put me to sleep.
I must be bigger than that.
To the thing that owns me
I do,
I throw it out.
A sharp division here.
This man makes a path.
He has risen above his danger issue,
but he is in need of trust.
He could slide back.
If you was justice you would hold my hand.
There his answer waits.

It’s just hard to tell the difference.
If it doesn’t tell deep
it has not understand.
I opened his house on change.
There’s an understanding castle
near sleep he builds.
We come together all along world lines.
We would not want to harm its view.

What’s left to do here?
How finish we gotta go?
You haven’t filled out the map yet.
Where is your food bar?
Cooking for the meat last time.
Now you’ve changed to a diet of soft sand,
what’s this the world’s about.
That has your hat in oil.
It doesn’t leave you peace clean.
You need to be clean.
Of all the knowledge
I gave you
you haven’t come out of the pool yet.
Everything like a boy,
everywhere.

An interchange,
I went ahead and added it.
Get that space off your face.
A remote control
it’s pretty obvious.
You just succumb to influences.

We move towards a deeper circle.
Spirituality issues its day.
Have a plan to remember.
Drink this all day long
crash point to zero.
I would’ve held you all night.
He ran off before I was sleeping.
You should take this point home:
have a hand on desire
no reach there for Me.

To settle fell, interesting of a company member.
Some things are just powerful
and can even overshadow the divine rally.
You want to learn to hold your bread.
Move in the daytime as if I’m beside you.
Sleep as if I’m in your arms.
You choose a way
To put Me in your driving car
so that your thought lights up your process
in terms I am laid down
magnetism.

You have to believe.
My floor not has you sleeping.
Matter is your waking tool.
In this prison you see My consistency.
In My reach you are.

I would certainly want it so.
I’d like to be here.
I’d like to have.
You’ve heard it.
Now you must bring what you hear into your living room.
Focus on the heart.
We bring the soul around to the front.
As a soul you meet the higher stations.
I have given you in peace.
Now it is your work to bona fie its real.

Why didn’t he answer?
He went into the shop.
So I won’t hear what’s up there?
A heart sound
shinning through.
You want to know you’re sorry.
You have a map.
You want to find anything you just
begin to look for it.
Your need will determine here.

Like I said,
The more concentrated,
the more you are put together,
the more you are given room.

Don’t worry,
I know voice.
I will teach you how to find it.
Now give to Me
your managing equation,
what you snap to in your night of light,
your own accord.
The divine embodied in human everywhere
has given Me a name,
the divine in Man,
a good news.

Have a singing mixture.
Use a strategy.
You get the Overframe:
the knowledge
a divine beauty
sitting in his own
divine station
will give you.
Your soul chooses this answer.

A foul use here,
demons.
You need to study
and know the difference between a wake song
and a diabolical need.
One smells funny.
It has not the genuine concern.
A quiet demeanor
will be your living tool.

Normally I get off this tape,
this chariot wheel,
and become to you a living frame of deity
your day revolves around.
I am not your frame of worship.
There are two frames here.
God can be your encompassing reality,
your special program of worship.
Name has an order here.
He will grow larger,
eventually,
as understanding beckons.

Bona fide results of the first ticket:
you find God.
The second no one knows.
The One is this storybook,
a code no idea can crack.
We hear Him a personality in the hours,
that which sustains us,
a half-light nonetheless.

A mystery bigger than creation,
it is God’s tabernacle,
his field of worship.
Even consciousness cannot account for its sum.
There is no greater field of play.
The One is your absolving window.
Your wrong can find reason there.
In its totality quarter
it is the basis of all deed.

Don’t condemn your process to their hands:
we’ll make you pay for this.
They have nothing original to say.
Solution does not open its schoolbook to them.
The payment for your crime
you will dole out in your effort for change.
Such is the master code.
Your will to change is your effective tool and special look.
Regard the world with its purpose.
Come to the garden without this
and you will not enter the gate.

A circumstance is just an opportunity for its progress.
We manage defeat this way.
Understand the need for change
and it comes in your courtyard.
Walk it into your house.
I am its gardening arrangement,
the divine in your own smile.
Look to Me your divine rose.

You wondered a long time without an aim.
You got lost.
Society,
I went up to comfort her,
make her feel better.
This is the Principal speaking.

We don’t have the play station;
He has the play station.
You let the killer run lose among us.
I do not arrange his deed.
He is your order run amuck.
This is My witness.
Give change.

Go to talk with your grandmother,
a divine field book.
Don’t bend your knees before a wooden god.
Life is not your throne.
Let’s keep it
this is no ordinary game.
You are founded on ambush
to show you God in the impersonal hours.

Don’t walk again you’re going to fly.
Don’t worry about it.
There’s proof inside
where the heart of the question lay.
You need to come out of your canteen,
your desire’s arrangement.

I had a holding plug missing.
I couldn’t see for the pollution.
They’re calling you for fifty-nine.
That will be fifty-nine up there.
Wake up that number on you.
We arrive on healing number.
Your field of play is material wealth.
You fail your hours
you’ll have your hydrogen peroxide back.

Buddy this is it,
how to put your foot in the door.
You wanna fly folks
– come on –
through a divine opportunity.
This is exactly
the basis of all our arguments.
We don’t wanna promote any specific religion.
Problems result for everybody.

Yes but if you can process change
you can find you can be diversified.
There’s a unified answer.
You have something to read to us.
You tell us what it is you report on.
This is healing.

A healing outcast
is your ticket on change.
You took it,
the things he held dear:
family,
his country,
a place in society,
his hope.
Was to the point that They came,
divine beings,
and showed him how the rivers run.

He processed hope
that We gave him.
It’s like that.
A society,
from its outcast,
social change
will be brought into living picture.
You have a cornerstone here.

So much misunderstanding
when these things hit the streets.
A poem can be disruptive.
I tell them what’s wrong.
This is where I give back.
This is a pedophile’s field book.

I wonder,
all the lights and stuff,
will help the ignorant to see,
or you’ll hate me even more?
Duke,
all American,
I bring home the change,
strands of the common way.

 

Every Suicide Bomber’s Broken Arrow is Broken

Genie in a Bottle by Frederico Bebber, used with permission

In my last post, “To View the Hunting Design of Mourning”, I examined dreams of the suicide bomber of the Brussels Metro that seemed to show a contact with the heaven of Islam that gave him a divine sanction to carry out his mission. Over the course of years, I’ve had a contact with that heaven that’s of a very different nature, one not from Allah or angels but from a dead suicide bomber. It’s in the form of a poem in which he’s the speaker, and so it’s his words filtered through my creative reflex, put in my language and style of poetry, one which continued to develop over the course of time it took to complete the poem. I haven’t received it out of the blue, just because I had an inner opening that could receive it, nor because I was some good person chosen to show his bad. Whatever we hear or see in vision in regards to other people has a bearing on our own lives, is something we need to see and hear so to become better people ourselves, that someone else a mirror we’re looking into to help us change. This is true for both (inspired) poets and prophets, something neither they nor the people that quote them seem to understand.

The first lines of the poem came among the first lines I received once my muse turned on like a flood, which was in South America in September 2001, and it took me awhile to see the bomber’s voice out of all the muse I was getting. By the time I got to Paris, several months later, I did recognize that distinct voice and organized the scattered lines into a poem, as I did the title (“A Suicide’s Bomber’s Broken Arrow is Broken”) and more lines came, and this earlier form was submitted to and rejected by The Atlantic and Poetry. My muse edited it after, adding more verses and editing the title (“A” changed to “Every”) and individual lines, and I continued to work on it slightly until I posted it on my personal blog in 2015, after submitting it a few more places. The majority of the poem, however, the core, came in those few months after 9/11, as did many lines about Islamic extremism, mixed in with lines about the world harm I have caused, all of which I included in a prose/poetry manuscript I wrote on the island of Crete in 2002 called “Civilization and the Art of Terror” or “The Inspired Word”, which will remain unpublished, though it’s a source of organized muse I draw from from time to time.

Last week, as I was meditating at the Samadhi of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, I heard the lines “That’s got my name on it. / Perfect,” and then I saw a light blue curtain blowing slightly, and then I saw the face of Sri Aurobindo, the age he was in the last photos taken of him, the outline of his face highlighted, and he was right in front of me looking directly at me. I was then told to wait before boosting the poem, to do some purification first, told in lines of muse, the vision of his face having faded. At the time I interpreted that to say the poem would be seen as something he’s behind because I’m his disciple and because of what I’ve written about inner contact with both he and Mother in regards to my poetry and writing in general. Although the muse said “perfect”, it said it a little while after hearing the first line, enough time to make me realize I didn’t want to drag his name through the mud, since I’m considered the worst kind of person on the planet, a minor attracted person. I sat there afterwards and let that sink in. It took the ego out of it, and I’m sitting here now not wanting to be in the shoes I am, but I think I understand.

Do you? Maybe it’s the bad man that can truly show us human evil and how really to end harm, rather than who we normally think can, a good person’s that been burned by bad. To see what I’m saying you’d have to understand higher than good and evil and more integrally than there’s this bad person harming society, understanding that for us to climb out of our wrong we need the goodwill of a good number of people because it’s not something we can do all on our own, why, when it’s all said and done, this suicide bomber’s speaking and why I am. To speak in the terms of the spiritual path that I follow, you’d have to understand something of the great difference between the Supermind and Overmind, the very different ways from each other in which their processes work, to see why someone such as myself would be perfect to post what I’m posting as an outgrowth of my sadhana in the Integral Yoga.

Last night lines came saying it was time to post the poem, but that it needed a new title, and after hearing a few that played on the words I heard at the Samadhi, it hit me that I heard the new title sitting there last week, and that now the poem is perfect, relative to my ability at least. It still means what I originally thought it did, Sri Aurobindo exclaiming that it’s got his name on it, but it’s characteristic of muse to mean more than one thing, be applicable to more than one situation, and so it’s the suicide bomber making that exclamation and also all of Islam, and, in a very real though quite hidden sense, each and every one of us.

Who this suicide bomber is and what bombing he’s talking about I don’t know, but there are vague references that would seem to indicate the attack happened in Israel and killed mostly young people. He describes an after death process that would take a long time by our reckoning, but heaven can open windows on time we cannot, and so this could be what to us would be a voice from the future. It’s important to understand this is a single bomber speaking, with all the things personal to him that would entail, and so each suicide bomber would have a different story of why they became one as much as their general fate in the afterlife would be along the same lines as the one speaking in the poem.

This poem needs to get into the right hands, and as of yet it’s not gotten into even a handful of hands, other than the editors who’ve rejected it and a few other people, and so I pick it up again and try its hand here. Does anyone out there have ears? If you do, please share this poem. Its license is Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs.

That’s Got My Name on It

The world let me come to your room.
Here only:
a poet’s met greater listening.
Now what did he fish?
I’m not in your reach before.
What is the moon?
Symbol for where I am,
a light
To help you cross the night.

Silence,
death takes a terrible moment to calm down.
Now I touch you with the real.
I am a dead speaker.
The suicide bomber changes its space,
and everything right now
A story about how long it is.
Give rise to future presentations.

I cry to your hand.
Look at me.
My water, oh no,
blood red.
I’m sorry to act.
Disappointment knows no greater sum.
Give me the light
of your understanding,
and I’ll give you changed view.

The service there to act the middle road to stars,
the courage there to act.
Each man has a fear, love, dread, and pull to the extreme.
We feel ourselves so different from one another.
The problem’s building the people to be a church
so I can blow people up.
Man is a kicking gale a dozen kicking gales like him.
Can you understand why?

The small raft that conceals us all in bodily harm,
what I was to become in search of myself,
a big wall of religious separation between us,
and the grizzly bodies of adolescents to 13 men to find,
it’s not a secret the whole flesh can discover.

Death was not in my hands.
I exploded immediately.
Kill someone,
their voice right there.
We had a pay together.
It wasn’t bright and sunny.
Can we show you nonexistence?
I think I touched her.
You’ve got to fear.
Oh my God,
every finger accusingly sat at me.
This was no paradise.

There are realms in death you understand.
More order came.
I guess all went off to their private lesson.
I winked into hell.
All my mountain said no.
We lingered there.
It was my own order I made myself.
Please arrive me out of terror.

There lessons learned,
deep dark secrets you who understands.
A light found me thinking.
I grasped my neck to myself
and began to see.
I vanished hell.
On my journey I rose to you.
I’ve come up to my Faith.

As it doesn’t have one of the goals reconciliation
this is where Mohammad messed up.
The others I must also treat with light.
To grow oneself in mercy good idea.
Treat them with kid gloves even bad people.

The nature of the Prophet cannot be seen by your calculations.
It is hidden,
in a sense,
light bulb.
This sometimes assailed him,
his human.

Have to take apart anger.
I was just mad at you.
Through so much deception and web
the heartbreak was crouched around a day of killing,
terror hush, terror deep.

Tearin’ a hole in the fabric
of what death open
I am the author of a little child of the Furies,
a fierce cartoon within the page of my own age.
Every word easing the spear.
Not a secret a baby can tell.
Muslim doesn’t even talk about Muslim.
God is the veil at which he lowers his eyes.

Adam used to tell his name
unto his soul.
Let me release an air of sin
this cell from within,
right where they told me to explode.
It’s time for them to know:
all the way they cut truly in to a child’s deep identity.
Behind me the spear gave lesson.
I was sleeping –
families’ dinosaur.

There are some things that result in our hatred.
These things are ugly on us.
If you can tell the victim in the victimizer
stop the hatred.
That’s the first thing the very first.
No one else can listen.
No one else has ears.
The best place the time would be now,
to bring us into the 21st century.
The future writes this very slowly.
It’s now on the city conscience of Europe, Asia, Africa, and the United States.

The Freedom

 

You need to talk to me
taking notes.
It was centered on One.
Can't deal with Gibsons though.
Can we shoot first and ask questions later?

The poem you’re about to read needs to be listened to as you read it, as it’s a type of Spoken Word Poetry that has multiple speakers, presented in the form of an open dialogue, with no indication there’s been a change of speakers or even who’s speaking, a style of verse you’re likely not to have encountered before. The poet myself is only one voice among many, though the principle one, which include but is not limited to: society, historical figures, the divine, ideas and ideals, and, once at least in this poem, even the demonic. Each voice is an interjection that can disrupt the flow of meaning, even if you know it’s not the poet speaking, but hearing the different voices voiced out aids greatly in understanding the poem and besides provides some entertainment, what it seems we value more on the net if not even in the heart of the home of our imagination. Unfortunately I don’t have the resources to put a cast together to act out all the voices, what the poem asks for, to be something like a radio drama, and so it’s just the poet reading his poem and all its voices, but regardless, hearing it spoken will greatly help understanding the poem, and answering why you should make that effort is the purpose of this introduction.

My muse calls itself Reconstruction Poetry, as it has its hands on the world like a builder, right on human terms, in the treasure and trash of our stuff, so to rebuild, reshape them anew, and so it’s a very hands on poetry, quite engaged, speaking far out of the ranges of the tradition of poetry, although language play still takes a front roll seat as it’s the vehicle of meaning, the sound of the engine running. In this verse, poetic technique, as we know it, isn’t used all that much. On the surface the verse appears simple conversational English, which even uses slang, but on reading into it, it becomes apparent that word order is often weird, which makes lines not so much as ambiguous but as having more than one meaning, the central meaning not always readily apparent, and metaphor and allegory have such a strong presence you can easily get lost if you haven’t read it ‘repeat slow’, like all poetry needs to be read if it indeed is verse.

To launch a style of poetry on the net that requires so much attention is to be an unread poet, especially at this time when we use the net more to throw stones at one another than make a better world, when our attention span is the length of time it takes to get a point as quickly and painlessly as possible, no time for long winds, even fresh and alive ones, but it was composed for the medium of the net, more for tomorrow than for today however, for the reasons mentioned, but, due to its controversial nature (a pedophile’s speaking to his society), and due also to it being heard poetry, what most would call ‘hearing voices’, and you’ve never heard voices like these, it could catch fire today.

It differs from the normal meaning of that schizophrenically laden term in that it’s a consciously intended inner hearing that requires a light to heavy trance where you get behind the thinking waking mind and remain there listening in the quiet not allowing yourself to fall completely asleep or come completely awake, no small feat, which takes an enormous amount of concentration, something I’ve learned to do in the practice of the Integral Yoga over a period of 15 years or so, during which time I also developed the particular style of the poetry itself, or allowed it to take development I should say. It differs too in that it’s not only hearing but also seeing, as often lines of verse are written on some scene, either a still picture or during a short vision, spoken or sung aloud as the scene fades. I also hear an editor commenting on the verse in verse, recommending throwing out a line, or waiting for another line to come so to clothe anidea differently, telling me when to end the poem (the muse just keeps on going as long as you can stay under and listen or not fall asleep into dream), and so forth, editing done both in progress and later. I would imagine it’s major difference, though, from the common meaning of ‘hearing voices’, is it’s so amazingly constructive, isn’t telling me to do anything wrong or to tell people I’m the chosen one or that it’s the end of the world.

It’s not as controlled a listening environment as it sounds, since the editor is not always present, comes in more when the poem is finished to correct it, and lines are coming from all directions fast and sometimes furious to get recorded, which I do a few lines at a time, oftentimes only one at a time, and so I have to come up and go back under many times during a long poem, doing that frequent diving for days as in the case of a long poem like this one (like a frog going in and out of the water), and there’s both a false muse and the mind trying imitate the muse, and so it’s really a wild ride, but what makes it really hard is you have to be wise. Compared to inner vision, both TV and the net, all ‘entertainment’ mediums for that matter, are just landscapes barren of anything really real, actually adventurous, and truly rewarding. I’m sorry I can only show you a shadow of it, but it casts a long one, a Brocken bow, god-shadows.

Whether you believe in the soul and God or not, you’ll ask yourself, if you indeed understand the poetry, where in the world does it come from? since, as you read it, you’ll see it’s coming from beyond my reason. You’ll have to wonder if there are not higher or more integral things in us, piloting us, than our ego. You might even ask yourself if such vision hasn’t been civilization’s pilot all along, planting the seeds that build us to be a humanity, build our humanity in us, as I’m far from the only listener to have walked on the face of this earth. There might even be 7 billion listeners on earth at this time. Can you remember all that happens during sleep? That far back, that’s how far I want to take you. I call the source of my inspiration the divine muse of poetry, but whatever you call it, you’ll call it something bigger than I.

A few words about the poem itself: it was written about 5 years ago and was posted on my personal blog “A Collaboration With the Unknown in Perspective” and has been sitting there unread for years. The muse picked it up recently and added new lines, suggested an introduction and to use it as the poem to showcase. I have many poems on the net and many yet to be posted, but I would agree with my muse that this is the one to push, for reasons of pressing social need, though it’s the most controversial. It’s divine revelation, though I don’t expect you to believe that, the eye of the soul and the divine, an inner seeing, and as such it sees the whole picture, sees what we hide, what outer observation can’t see because so much inner is involved, the emotions in one’s hand for example. It looks at the issue of pedophilia, its causes and action in the world, from the perspective of oneness, but not only pedophilia, and even if you hold oneness as the underlying reality of the world, you will most likely have trouble with this poem. It will be a litmus test of your willingness to see oneness, since it’s applied to the most morally repugnant issue of our day, and, I’ve found in my years on the net posting about this issue, few who believe in oneness can see One when looking at what they most abhor.

If you get morally offended at the poem’s outset and don’t read it, you’re committed more to morality than oneness, and that would be something you need to see about yourself: where oneness doesn’t meet. If you do have a moral reaction, keep reading in spite of it, and by the end of the poem you might find you’ve gotten bigger than you were, if you can see that growing bigger is something we all need to do, each one of us, myself included, which means here where we now sit there’s smallness lurking in us. While a moral reaction has become the order of the day, the guide of our social interactions, especially on the net, it tells us where that smallness is, though for most it tells us how to behave, since we just let moral reactions rule us, and we fire off our hatred and anger at anyone who will listen, tweet it like angry birds. I urge you to listen to this poem, overcoming your reaction, if you have one, and see how big you are.

The Freedom

Poetry,
gonna take it hard.
Have a different kind of poem.
How to use it.
She’s ready –
divine muse.

Come to the firewall.
Do performance.
Do construction.
Get to the point where I…
My God,
the guy with a complex little package.
Put a clock.
Put people know.
They got a diamond in their hand.

Who put it there?
Oh slowly,
so slowly.
Take a while to build that up.
Inner reality
made a big watch.
Hands walked in another time.
Put the headset on.
I’m listenin’.

Everybody heard the most twelve suspects of all time?
If it works.
Educating public opinion
the length of a poem.
They go ready for people.
They go in on a plan,
undercover op.

Something else has been declared war on,
and we catch the News.
You said somethin’.
It’s mostly in America,
you know what,
the pedophile sting ring.
Did God cause this?
Is that the only way to deal with this like that, Nazis and the FBI?
Granted,
a pestilence,
this blight on children.
What their nature burn.

As we get to the root causes of America,
as we come to the apocalypse of America
(this is not the principle destruction –
find the end result),
we see a rudeness has no handle.
All history long we have been doing this to our children.
Okay we put the brakes on.
There are no more pedophiles Joe?
They’re proliferatin’.
We’re inept –
a moral reaction.

Wow,
the lengths we go to get trouble.
Predatory alert,
I’ve seen it on TV.
Arrested in the middle of everybody.
Wires and things they were all listenin’ in.
He had a kid to meet.
They got ‘im shoppin’.

Now he hung himself.
It was all in the report.
Yeah, kill yourself you freak.
Looks like
that was at the top of the story,
shot a wolf.

Now what did this do in TV land?
We don’t’ know.
You haven’t lost your brother.
These guys are monsters okay?
These guys are strangers okay?

Who makes this racket?
It’s the Press,
a News team.
Shape public opinion
as they report the News.
Who’s the lion and the tiger anyway?
Can you control them
poet?
A problem’s out of reach.
I operate on that.

You just think you know everything don’t you?
Can we see a blind spot
in our public opinion?
Do you have any bigger plans?
How America limits change.
We need to review this case.
The public media does it,
and would if they whisper gun?

Should we exterminate them,
what, who molest children?
Is this on News service tomorrow?
It’s got a way with guns,
all you can answer.
You load bullets that way.
It’s your last bullet.

The art has the empty chair.
What can we do magnet?
Excellent, I hope.
Art would magnify it,
pull people away from their dramas
by showing connections,
identity bonds,
between you and who you hurt.

That’s bigger than sin.
Well that’s too old.
Ever amplify it?
Push the button down.
I don’t smoke.
This is a cultural misunderstanding.
Where does pedophilia come from?
How many babies are born?
Can you light that cigarette?
It would be washing and cleaning and things like that.

Your child,
you rub that child’s fingers upon his board.
It’s like casual contact
with some finger on it.
How many mothers have that for pie,
daddy’s drinking beer?
Fish this one out of the water.
We look for pedophiles for sure.

Measure cultural mechanism.
Rob babies,
give ‘em some emphasis there
they don’t know what to do with.
Let’s grow up and explore this thing.
Now I was here and she was there.
Hello little boy.
Great crap game huh?

I’m showin’ you your shorts.
Now take the pedophile
and hang ‘im.
I can’t look.
That’s what we need him for,
not to look at blindness.

When you hear a special report,
cultural wide,
we’d question the homophobe.
That’s a concept to get across
true or not.

Cute kid,
and you feel another ocean.
You don’t know there’s fish in it.
It’s not something you drag up.
Dangerous sex offender,
he’ll wear it,
and we find a role for him.
No one wants to see their teddy bears
Get a lot of their lap.

One second,
bendin’ rules
tryin’ to get a point across.
I’ll rush in on things.
You won’t see this till tomorrow morning.
They certainly smeared ‘im.
I certainly told myself…
What did you tell yourself?
His brain’s on our fingers.
See, I’ve opened your eyes.

Now I want you back there now,
on the forays of revolution
Mr. Poet.
Think about it.
Probably lined the page.
Martin let’s go get older.
Well I just don’t want to be here,
between Jerusalem and Palestine.
It’s difficult
To see your place in life.

Before you come up here
Donny,
it’ll be your soul speaks.
I don’t know.
You need to make up your mind:
where are you at?
Look at each other.
Worry about the food later.
She’d like to heal this in humanity.
She had devote him give it to him,
what poetry sees further,
something muse.

I would feel very exposed.
Is this the pedophile saying this or his society?
Imagine on a workday.
Spitfire,
they come in those airplanes.
Are you service?
The other role come out,
an empty one.

Where would a pedophile lead us?
Up would be
his only way out:
don’t abuse kids.
If you had money
would you give it to him
for immigration?
That monster,
what’s he worth?
Oh a little story about society
it hides in its purse.

A scapegoat’s got your bag at heart.
Can we say large projection?
And so blind.
Dynamic,
what would free him.
Can it come to your house?

Supposed to fire.
You just get some pistol out.
React,
and we see some things about you,
your fears.
Is this all that’s bothering you,
What he would do?

Add to it
you have it
where intimacy and you meet your kids.
Are you holding something flush?
Is that your bright staple,
or would it wound around awhile?

Let’s go here:
what are you afraid of puttin’ on?
Did your child draw up the boundaries?
You exercise them every day.
There intimacy meets.
How are you protected?
It’s not an equation you see on paper,
but when a person does that
it weakens everyone.

Can you not put News here?
What would it do?
Help us all to behave.
One moment
as to why that is.

Screwin’ up everything,
are you a blind bard?
That’s history.
Believe it or not I help.
I got it replaced on the other side.
Until you kiss me you don’t start the television.

Why would he send it?
He did it.
He knows the One inside.
He can see the doctor.
Plug him for it?
How about you,
Would you scrap it?

Now what does this vision do for us?
Over the line,
got some things to think about.
Let me be intimacy,
and that hurts no one.
We were gonna add
a little survival dinner,
but not there.

Are you mistrustin’ my alliance?
I’m identified with you.
That’s just long on paper.
I grant you see One.
What a delivery stable.
Can’t get that look.
Look right here:
some pedophile has shown the way.

How many times have you seen God act this way,
used the humble and the accused?
How many times seen divine process work?
Are you starvin’ in this world?
We got a lot to lay down,
and it’s reachin’ for ya.

We’re all in fact Brahman.
Interior is first.
Have a market with it.
I’ve gotten along in dreams.
It just pushes me.
Don’t listen,
to take aim further away.

Who’s he understand?
No I don’t wanna hear about it.
The reason by India:
population pressures.
They’re not gurus.

Oh we would be around
your most precious holding bucket.
Our yoga interior answer
deepens the way up.
We’ve acted like frogs,
and if you kiss us we turn muse.
Why does it have to be so moon when it comes out?
Wash your underarms.
Near reveal to us.

That was kinda fast.
Going?
What you have to get through first:
some unlimited attention.
They don’t have one.

I knew there was a way
to see You again.
I’ve been claiming that You are a little boy.

Yes,
it’s just about enthroned.
Operation additional control measure,
fifth’s parlor,
I found it on the way home.
It’s over because
it costs too much.

He played with his weeks.
On his altar
he put an image:
every person that day he’d find.
Even animals have a right to regard.
A tree would not sink from hope.

This is One activity plan.
You don’t want with appetite.
You’re there
as a friend.
To wash in,
we gather direction that way.

What’s wrong with this?
You dislike ‘er.
The bad thing about it,
everybody’s strangers,
hate just grabs the page.

That’s not smart protocol.
You fear the invasion,
the betrayal, the leap,
you have this friend idea.

Daddy, what I do?
Now I told ya,
well it’s almost nighttime.
You can’t trust anyone.
You read in the paper…
You know what today?
I guard in many numbers with police.

I have to tell you too
we’re off with your doctor.
I have a new posture:
if you get burned,
you get back on.

He said that?
Superman talks.
Think about
to announce:
it’s not a violation
you have the proper treatment.

Indentified more in the body
than meant for the trouble.
Yeah if you’re sittin’ there
quite lost in the body,
you think
it’s you.
Pedophiles
handle some body part,
I can’t believe it,
the suffering all life long.
They’ve been killed we carry on.

The child might not see it that way.
Do you know what he did to you?
That child learns.
See the violation mark?
It carries around like a bag of worms.

None of this would happen
safe we looked at the body.
It’s not you.
You’re wearin’
an organic machine.

I don’t get it.
In the attitude
don’t sit there and be violated.
Man you just
take our support from us.
I’m giving you One.
Not a person or a thing stands anywhere else.
Support at its most real.
Identify,
and maybe you don’t have to feel so violated.

He knows it,
knows for sure.
His mom
would sound a lot of Pittsburg at night.
Tell this to the nurse
and get out that touch.
Do I continue suffering?
I choose.
How much mother and father removable from the scene,
or whoever it was got in there on ya.

What do we fly here,
the woe of our misfortune?
Is that our life downed by that?
Maybe life is bigger than her scenes.
Would an actor know that?

Maybe that hand on you was a push,
that violation a goad.
Perhaps the secret will in things
operated on a plan.
How many people say evolution here?
Contented I think not.
See the drawbridge?

What are you doing?
What are you watching you fierce wolves?
I’ll look around the Internet.
Can you handle the vision?
Goddamn that’s just society cuffs.

So many opinions what can change?
In every opinion
an underlying speak out.
Tell me there isn’t.
Is everybody mad?
Punish those responsible!
Can we get a better basis for intolerance
Than pretending to be tolerant?

Everything’s so hyped up.
Offended,
is anybody not?
There, I read your e-mail:
blacks and fried chicken,
you racist bastard.
Mohammad,
Christ,
not one word
questioning his ability to translate angels.
It’s death by paper.

Now let’s shove this down people’s throats:
everybody has to marry the homosexual;
no one hold the pedophile’s hand
or even let ‘im speak.
Your Internet local connection,
do you hear these voices speak?

Now I’m the radio.
We got worms.
Everyone’s alarmed,
and you think it’s what he did
or she said.
But you’re holdin’ the gun.
Reaction fires and aims.
Mark our first foray into world-space,
and we just knock each other around.

There’s somethin’ over there.
I can get it across.
Let’s take some time,
be more fair as we grow up.

Tape this up on your world view:
see everybody?
That’s me.
I’m just alone in details.
They’re alright:
man,
I like everyone;
if I’m hurtin’ anyone
change detail.
There’s One on that regard.

When it’s advancing that loud you stop it.
Dream make for us.
This wolf might kill us.
Dreamin’ so let’s hide it.
What’s this?
Who broke the towel?

I don’t wait to come over.
You’re not going to be kind to me.
Predatory wolves,
shoot ‘im and hang ‘im on the fence.
Now square off a minute.
I’m so much in your stomach.

Are you sure that’s what you’ve got:
Donny you snake-wolf?
Are you so sure I blind you?
An unethical point I’ve made?
I look and you follow me do so.
Engage me
bring to doctor.
Finished.

It’s not an easy situation:
One in your inbox Donny.
There isn’t a way to do it.
There just isn’t.
Thanks but be careful when he gets in there.

Kept askin’:
hi mate,
somethin’ good for ya after school?
Something’s down that floatin’.
Don’t be so hesitant to mentioned enlightened.
That’s where Donny’s goin’.
He sees there’s a change of consciousness ahead.
He listens to everybody
rise here.

Some future trickles slow.
You think this is all
silence and that just no-self show?
It’s just our first boat.
What would master existence and leave you in it?
A certain Individual you are
superfriend.

Anyway,
I get up out of my mess
mastered by my own impulse to rise
into the fullness of what I can be.
You’ve never felt it?
You smile.
There’s more isn’t there?

Choose liberalism.
He put his daughter.
There’s a light out.
Are we usin’ the money?

Even if we put on,
put on those uniforms
– you know I’ve been watchin’–,
they’re not gonna
honor us no way,
give us any kind of prize.
They’re not gonna
be more kind to us.
Tom’s father used to say
they’re just wasting their time.
That make ‘em
what would open freeways?

Where we were back then.
Give us the money now.
Not an excuse
to let conservatism happen.
Now a wolf
is not gonna be so visible.

We should see this.
Try these on,
some predator names.
Give you a link to us?
Slow I think.
People’ll buy anything
if it’s wrapped up in the official package.

Don’t cross out.
I’ll put you down
for a larger stereo.
How many times went through it?
We are not dumb people.
If you are afraid you are.

Listen to this:
media hypes fear.
Want to tell you
South African.
That should get ‘em.
You mean this is a plan?
What day it’s gonna be
the totalitarian government?

Only in the policy of war
or to mediate a disaster
would it be.
That’s not the form
control is used.
It’s just a radical involvement
to get you to accept policies.
Go lay down.
What are you supposed to look for?
Where is the fear?
Some policy
might be behind it.
Runs it’s available
to get to.

You know what that means:
there’s a propaganda of ministry.
We got a few goin’:
a think tank,
a state and a local government,
a business headquarters.

It would tell you something sensitive:
restaurants,
you can eat Man.
We would not organize a conspiracy.
Government takes too long.
You get a flavor
when you’re watchin’ the News.

Halved of it, come down.
Don’t worry,
all your children
stay over there.
One thing about America:
grow kids.

Would national policy be in my conversation?
He kept in it in his coffee a lot.
Visit them in school,
and we can see the Internet.
Don’t you help ‘em.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen it:
Americans tellin’ on each other.

It was in the paper.
You have to report.
Don’t have to.
I know a girl that act like that.
Isn’t that piracy?
Get ‘er stupid name,
click it in.

It’s not easy
To know what to do.
You’ve got to listen
To a partner with Sun.

Those terrorists,
right here at this moment?
Oh doctors.
We winched two people from the Caribbean today.
We got half of them out.
Of course the beauty would have to see one another.

Invite yourself to their house.
Hand that down please.
I am a friend.
No way,
I just treat you like our lives treat us.
Yeah,
it hurts doesn’t it?

It’s wonderful that all listen to music.
You get some of the ideas that
art puts out.
You know you had comin’.
Look at what you’ve done to art.
Be valuable.
You’ve put it in concentration camps,
got it out of the public eye,
you, laziness and snobbism.
Not everything
instant.

How much concentration to read a poem.
How much time involved.
You don’t have to take that off.
News media does that.
What are you laughin’ about?
The News media,
they know what they’re doin’.
They get intah everything.
They want to be where you put your attention.
Good one.
Repeat me:
in store…

Anyway,
liberal ideas
usually come from inside.
You say.
They don’t come that far.
Wrong peacock
you’re lookin’ at.
I’m not a Capitol Hill.

Art shows us
the inner.
That mystery shines in us,
gives us keys to change.
Art polishes that,
and I’m here inner.

Donny and I
absorb change.
We got a handle on it.
I’m standin’ just outside.
We put this strength in your hand:
to change for the better.

Yep, you need
to be liberal right here,
in that specialty,
letting change happen.

It’s a creative growth.
You might see Nature behind it
and something guide ‘er.
Standin’ there scratchin’ your head?
We’ve evolved.
The status quo arrange that?
Conservative,
I’m standin’ right here.

Art
will move you.
Now if you could see
why we’re wasting
so much time.
Oh I don’t care.
I’m okay.
I don’t need you the attic.
An ogre
have dinner with us.

Still,
even if it wasn’t
a survival emergency,
take a long change.
Maybe you’re here for that reason.

Law enforcement officers
are the greatest defenders
of the status quo.
Hi kid,
don’t you dare
break any laws.

It’s already starting to break down.
The system’s breaking down
justice said.
That’s how it’s always been.
Would we break laws
to change the system?

Everybody’s supposed to hold it.
We don’t want anarchy breathin’ down our necks.
Alright I’ll arrange you.
I’m seein’ intah the future.
I think we’d look for art
to give change its growth,
policy its format,
take any law down
not good up on that.

That’s an individual there
recordin’ growth.
He got enough room to do that?
When he comes home
we’ll ask ‘im.
Sister yes we’ll have to change language
give you credit too.

Don’t get down on your step-brother.
Art’s just fell into a hole.
It’s not the lawmakers you lobby for change.
It’s the editors.
They’ve just fallen asleep.
Art to them would write about itself
in a way inbred.
It would not speak out of its word.
They’re fond of music.
They won’t grapple with the hook.
Now you know I see you.
Who said that?
This is fresh art.

Come ‘ere,
the end of a varmint
that projects the end of a varmint.
This is performance art.
I’m gonna put them all over the street.
Here you have the video.
Project it out there.
I didn’t buy anything.
Do you have any idea
why?
வணக்கம்.
That’s your cultural edge,
a stop bath
meet the Press.

Can we counter a bomb?
Hopefully
We can explode,
show you a peaceful way
to counter terrorism,
to bring the public revolution.
If it does explode,
though I’m sure it’ll be a contained blast
(we’ll have the bomb experts on it right away),
you will see the power of words.

Why strap a bomb to your chest and kill the neighborhood?
Why send your tanks to that country?
Write a poem from where the One sees us.
That’ll shake everybody up,
and you’ve brought change right.

What does it mean to bring us a full home?
Daddy cleans and he whistles.
Oh he’s talked the TV now listen kids.
You know one way’s a bad wagon.
Yeah, I needed to fill his shorts,
or graft my review into his underwear.
I have more for you kiddo,
everything you always wanted about attention,
and there it just hits the spot.
I’m gonna call you to your bank card.
Stand here eager on yourself.

Unreal a boy gives his father that ultra-politique.
When they’re in that swoon,
when base is being gone over,
what a boy could hide there.
Daddy do it daddy.
He grows up with hungry clothed.
It’ll be his reason to see evolution
he don’t just sit there with it.

There you are.
Into the sea you’ve been hollered down,
into the sea that touches your toes,
where that hurt.
This is the trail in the sea-ward.
Every father has an account with us,
however remote,
moving in the intimacies of a man.
It’s not out of the direction of his love.
It just spoils there.
Might not ever even think about it.
Might never try anything,
but a man’s nature be around his children.

No, not all are drunk,
but there is a liquor cabinet.
If he’d open his dreams he might see it.
The father that does cross lines
more often than not it’s the casual touch,
little tight pressures he holds his son.
Squeeze daddy.

This is just an occasional glance.
That’s where he tests city limits,
shows that he is the owner
of the boy’s whereabouts.
It’s his flesh.
It’s just a little squeeze
where that little boy grows,
and he finds men attractive.

When this grows up in him
he’s the opposite
from pedophile feelings.
This was not to churn his shorts.
More romance here than touch.
He wasn’t put in that strange place,
something to make him investigate further on.
His daddy is the love of his life
that time,
and he’s comfortable there.
Grows up lovin’ men.

Homosexual we’ve reported.
This is generated love.
He likes its squeeze.
Follow your counts.
Get rid of a fall.
You don’t believe it,
how wrapped up he is.
His life that regard.

Now a boy wouldn’t remember
his father’s affection.
Way too young
to bring memories back.
It’s a rollin’ stone.
Maybe he likes it
being gay,
but he knows
that life has not given him
his natural fulfillment.

The first boy
don’t fair well.
He remembers the pounding serf,
was I enough to understand
they wasn’t supposed to do that.
Y’all keep your mouth shut about this.
Visit…
Oh here we go.
What does he visit?
Dad does the talking boy.

That’s interesting.
He makes me feel at home
with the arrangement in the hat.
I could go in any direction.
Maybe there’s a woman on my arm,
but I can give a man more than a kiss
and take a child into the basement.
I could, but why bother?

Our policy is your papers.
Gain a step.
Your sexual orientation arrive in the breeze?
By the way the professor was kidnapped.
Stare at your business.
I am sorry,
these are the lines that appear.

Well I was gonna take you home,
but it’s made me mad.
We’ll see what the door is.
That’s what I would do.
Now they’re shipping it off.
He didn’t recommend it.
Seven of us like that.
It’s warm and squashy.
This is your sexual identity as it’s being determined by them,
all your mothers and fathers
when you were a teddy bear.

Most people turn five.
Is that what it is?
Hands up.
You don’t remember.
All of them
(that’s true)
that would do it
with some little kid
got so much more than a tight squeeze
in their waddling years.

You would know
mommy and daddy.
One of you opened up that land.
See how it grows.

Let ‘im plug.
Draw back.
That’s the way.
You have evidence spokesperson,
and you only have intelligence monitor.
That’s all you’re gonna get.
You gave
even more.

Hey,
well alright,
givin’ it,
so much attention to sex,
some cultural peanut.
Can a teddy bear grasp that?

It would
be about getting laid
being a man.
Boys you have to understand,
what you got
is so exposed,
and their attention just goes there.
It’s like all aglow.

All boys
in my gramophone.
Pardon the little lever
not bringing girls along,
but we gather.

I’ve brought you to thah
floor place,
the wet ‘et end.
I’ve given you a vision of mud.
What’s going on in your head,
I’m going crazy?

There look at it,
a library full of knowledge.
The box is strong.
Hard to open it.
Oh the police have videos.
You can find it on the Internet
you hear about all the time,
but I’m giving you art’s vantage point,
not some liquorish of lust.

We’ve looked at this through the art lens,
and we see more than just the act.
Nature’s been uncovered.
I’ve brought something out of her
deeper than her photograph.
We’ve shown lines behind.
Every peck we practice art here.
It reveals.
We could use the revelation.

Are you all ticked off?
It might be you sittin’ there reason for their being in their homes.
We’ve got to look at this.
Dishes,
we wash dishes.
This is a cleaning rainbow.
What root of it?
The powers better
at the universe,
the ones that turn on lights.

Say we ignore them.
They are just to come back later.
That’s orange actor.
Dropped him while you were off to sea.
He’s got a big of muse.
No easy way out.
Bigger things we handle better the bigger we are,
and that’s an art show.

Art,
the Chinese,
the Pawnee Indian Southeastern Association.
Sam I am.
I have to be bigger than my paper.
Sacmont is a word and I am going to do sacmont.
About hands,
hope to win the war.

You were really skewered.
Tell that to your activist window.
You don’t know the carpet.
An opportunity
to see things firsthand,
a reference point
so we can safely arrive.

It goes through the airmail.
I’m going on the paperclip.
Unbelievable
the amount of hatred
people have sent in our direction.

Good morning ace,
we have you scheduled for a speaker.
I think we should stay
out of politics.
A child can say anything.
I have to be liberated from this.
One did that.

What’d ya do when you were little?
Dodged bullets on the ramparts.
We walked by here a couple of times.
Some kids sure don’t leave me alone.
You have to be very careful.
You met Toady Beach?
No, I don’t know the area.
A kid’s lives aren’t over.
Any man can be a hitter.
Let’s not hear that they’re all men,
because they’re not.

I can’t stand
that look on the table.
Start over again
so close to your world
and handle upside-down cakes.
My poor wisdom bleeds.
It wasn’t exactly hell on ice.
I was friends with ‘im.
It had a sound to it.
It looked joyish hum.
As a stranger though it tolled.

He got more expensive.
Fell into the seep holes.
I lay down for him,
and that becomes our game.
He got good at it.
I get electricity waves.
Gives so much pleasurable explode.
Hey, where did I go?

And he needed awhile.
They’re into hurtin’ you in bonds of love.
Time lane they’re spinnin’.
Now I tried to take it off.
Let it and smiled.
Nothin’ where I want,
where ultimately I want to be touched about.

You wanna hear the rag?
I was all one partner.
I got ‘im into it.
Looks he gave me destroyed me.
It had promise.
Just exposed myself.

How a boy carry on.
This is a lot of boys.
You don’t look.
We’re carried around in silence.
What’s the trouble between our legs?
And they put so much on it to cover it up.
How many times I’m corrected.
Like it’s some ray gun
ugly to see.
It’s so feel to ourself.

I can’t get anything tighter.
Yet you block this away.
There’s so much guilt and shame put there,
and this man love with that,
and he was a pressure cooker.
No I can’t build on him.
I get robbed.

There it is.
Look I’m showing you a lot of the table.
I get adult and forget.
I’ve been abused.
Is that all there is to it?

Something else:
a window open
(you watch it –
that’s the Law),
a love triangle.
When people join my faith they take over,
give themselves over to union.

Oh we’ll start.
Somethin’ there One sings.
It’s a little pocket of it.
You’re not interested in singing,
but the heartbeats on me there
like the end of the world.

They’ll give it to me wide.
You sit there and explain to me my feelings.
I’m not gonna disagree with you.
It is weird,
and I know this has done me wrong,
but what was that
commission?
Did we broach upon a power of play
used One?

You’ll understand when you’re older there’s a body now.
Yes, I’d add things
you needed to know,
union reels.

And you’ve heard it,
the big mess.
To say he makes the mess and that’s all there is to it,
not even close.
You’ve gotta change.

Society don’t handle right.
From day one you get the big stick.
I mean how many knows how to treat properly the cash box?
It’s so loud in there.

Look at these,
they’re sour fruits.
Can you hear me society,
can you hear me?
Givin’ the ball justice.
I’ve told you its court.
A weapon was made.
It’s to help you see dirt.

Dignity stand up.
We are soldiers on the line.
I’m not talkin’ politics.
I’ve gotten intah human terms.

Have you ever thought we’d look at them?
Is that a rule to avoid?
You’ve sunk headlong into this like you have one.
Blind reactions policy your decisions.

Now you at outcast lot and see what they flower.
I didn’t get under your gun.
I looked for change.
No outer remedy helped.
You know, you avoid the inner.
Everything you make points us away from it.

I sat down like the Buddha and demanded change.
I opened the inner doors.
Dire necessity lead me to it.
I had no wings for messiah,
friends ourselves of outer space.
(Joe,
is anybody living there or something?)
I don’t get paranoid.
One laxative:
yeah I read of all this waste;
I needed change.
How deep you have to go inside yourself
to get on that movement.

Rebecca,
what’s the problem with this here?
You can’t measure change outside of doors.
They have to let you in,
other people.

When they say
stay out of the reach of children,
they take from you the wheel barrel,
something to carry
change in.
Not a popular vision.
So anyway,
here, get it fixed.

You know what art means?
Got a looney movie,
Vampires Stalking Earth.
Some half-vampire comes along.
He’s managed to step out of darkness.
He’s stopped feeding.
Our knowledge to our liberated son.
I think that was the Light speaking.
Humanity needs ‘im
to cross blood.
His type for the antidote.
Do I see the engine kill ‘im?
You know how ignorant they are in the movie.
We see the man’s worth.

Come on see how big you are.
How small I am I avoid the essential details.
Kill all of these damn flies.
Why do you presume to know so much?
Triangle,
know all that you do is a secret triangle
where the One meets
you and the other party.
Even with an object this intimacy is found.
One builds that up.

Now what do you do with that?
You have to strike your own kind of balance.
It’s an identity bond really.
Come to that regard.
Who is a thing to you?
Who do you abuse?
You love yourself you love it all.

Frank,
I’d call that girl.
Anywhere where unity doesn’t meet,
call that to our attention.
What immediate cure?
We’re in the ways with each other a long time
before the One becomes apparent,
inwardly seen and outwardly acted.

You have my vision.
It’s not a little cost.
It’s not a little vision.
America are you hope here?
Travel down the road some.
Give this vision time to feel
what’s in store for you and carry need.

The United States of America
just can’t see itself.
A young filibuster,
you visit warlords,
and you’ve scribbled out some thoughts.
The private retrieves them,
and the penman retains them.
You’ve board a door:
a child’s link with sin.

Let’s look,
if you feel like it,
right here.
Porn does not make you image real.
It stretches things too far.
What’s you’re movin’ by art
is everyone’s have to see
to know the problem.

I’m the one on details,
what’s going on in the house of soul.
Does Nature essence this,
or is it in fact blind?

Five minutes
we’ve square rooted on a problem.
That’s visited,
the solution.
I don’t know,
I’d love to Bob but,
I’ll get back to ya.
Really believes the attack that Tibet is sending dogs.

I’ve gotta go to the phone.
Enough Riverwood.
Reader,
flowery alphabet,
high avenue.
That’s a lot of surplus.
Heads down.
Prayer.

We’ve spotted Virgil.
Come over here.
What would you say one night greeting the world?
All I can say
is change.
Would an American epic suffer?
American employment.
You’ve got your stadium
young poet.

Linked your mind.
We’ll put you down for
visions of mud.
We go @Firefox.
Okay,
pick him up
to your determination.

Hell, Jeff Gardener
would turn it against that way.
He figured out
we pay for.
What’s that?
When you abuse.
Since you’re okay
you put people outside
on it.
Can we poddle?

I apologize.
I have that in perspective.
They can explain
fit into explode.
From Grace I came.
From there study.
Win the house.
Are you gonna freedom?
Are you gonna quit?
I mean,
What would the address
Be hostin’?

What’s he mad for,
it’s them in America,
or you’re tunin’ it right
the guitar,
the avenue,
of the greatest public instrument:
all for change?

Just a lot of difference pal
you’re workin’.
I wanna see what I’ve been doin’.
He have a place to live
every soul?
That
help out.

Have to have a group to do this one:
you are a soul,
something that’s not
offended by anything.
No reactions.
What a gift
to society
(I ain’t givin’ this stance.
I only seen this stance),
the most wonderful
Person
it’s a challenge
to find.
The biggest thing I ever saw.

When I saw that…
They didn’t go in the backdoor.
They talked to Someone.
Will help
see the soul inside
a reference point
human
and over your head
there the God.

Toilet paper
Can’t cover it up.
Donny saw what he saw,
and he looked.
Whose coveralls are these?
Could be mine.
Play.
There are other trappers.
You made us there?
Just a look,
but I saw the world through Those eyes.

All this equipment,
that’s where it came from.
You have no idea.
You can play the player.
Play One.
Here I am always played,
rubbed out,
by your enchantment.

Soon fire all this light.
You take off.
Many times right there
the food the fight.
I write all of you
fullscreen.