But I am provided in poems.
Put it in the baby wash.
It rules society.
I’m talkin’ military hardware.
We live with babies.
The whole universe sticks in them
we don’t see.
The openness they are can start a revolution.
They are so open
it’s crazy in there.
We just program them well.
We don’t even know we’re doin’ it.
This is ballpoint of society,
and it is here we fuck up.

They’re strangers you see.
They just lay there and fuss
or pop a smile.
They are closed to us.
We have no idea what’s goin’ on
in that baby’s consciousness.
They’ve arrived from somewhere.
Does this still glow in them?
It’s got Heaven on it,
which they slide down by degrees.
They’re a soul state.
They are empty room.
They come from far away
to land here.

They’re a Heaven’s breeze
to our notion of self.
We delight in them.

It’s all over their face
we have the power.
Oh they’re tiny lords
to our work schedule.
They make us work.
They are ever present in our garage.
They are kingpins there.
That’s the surprise.
They bake in our dreams.

We don’t know what to do with them.
They are a non-entity yet,
but we love them to death.
How do we handle baby?
A conditioning arm.
Everything we do effects them.
They haven’t managed yet
to filter out the world.
It’s all new to them,
and they rob you of your sleep.
We handle them,
and every touch matters.
We are formin’ their identity.
All their little quirks
they’ll pick up from us.
I don’t think science knows this yet:
we cast their sexual identity
in our arms.
We determine it.

The action around those genitals
will give the boy his love,
the girl her romantic feelings.
You don’t even have to touch it.
They live in a soup
of all this emotion,
and they dance on the shores of the body
your emotional fingers and hands.
Your emotional awareness and hands,
it could be you cannot see.
You only know you’re washin’ and cleanin’
and things like that.
Sometimes you kiss the life force there.
It’s a magnet for your fingers,
a draw,
and the baby feels that pull,
swims in it.
You’ve determined their sexuality,
I think the heaviest hand there.

Let’s swim in feelings you know.
We swam usually when we’re three,
and let’s pick the boy in the room.
Can we call him daddy’s little lover?
Their bond makes the fishes glow.
It has heavy all over it.
They abide awhile
each other’s lover.
This is way before memories are formed.
Maybe it was your uncle.
You don’t know.
It gets squeezed
sometimes,
that little package you got,
and his is so bright and shiny
in the shower room.
It’s a big muscle thing,
daddy’s central hat.
You’re not bein’ molested.
You’re bein’ loved on,
squarely and sweetly,
and you love it there.
It’s a special relationship,
and a gay man comes out of it,
like watch it glow.
That man builds his life around it.
We think he’s just gay.
Do we open more doors?

Give that kid an orgasm and see.
Oh my the baby bliss there.
It can make Hitlers out of men
and a mystic’s standin’ regard.
Can you be a child molester?
Depends on how you were molested.
Was it sweet and nice,
or did it throw you away?
It was so beautiful my mom said,
so amazingly sweet.
No, sex did not enter the room.
You see how blind we can be?
There was sex all over that paper,
but I love children
a million dollars worth.

And I’ve shaped babies for yah
in the frying pan,
not enough to see it whole,
just to know it’s goin’ on.
All the variety of kids we produce,
the adult they’ll be,
I haven’t glowed on.
Can you see this happening
in society?
The baby’s room,
I live there,
and I mean don’t we all?

And now I photograph,
a photograph of ourselves on Thanksgiving Day.
You really need this vision,
and that’s where we change society,
where that baby encounters the world.
This is the cutting edge of difference.
Don’t spank them don’t bleed them,
don’t turn them on.
Don’t even give them reason to cry,
unless you can’t help them that way,
and they’re in baby mood.
If they see violence or hear an argument,
their violence will ensue.
We are rose with them
when we call their name.
Can everbody get this report?
Baby’s Day Out,
you have no idea.
Baby’s Day Out,
the real McCoy.

I’ve got my microphone.

I’m puttin’ on my prejudices
to give you infancy.
It’s not all about homosexuality and gayness
or look at that pedophile.
It’s about somethin’ I can’t talk about.
It’s got lands on it
we don’t know about.
I can only show you a picture
that will help us along.
You got that Fredrick?
The baby wars,
they’re a baby,
and I call out war and disease
that land at your backdoor,
over the rainbow.