Come check your bag out
through his porch.
A porch
explore us,
the name of the explicit program,
miles
above the current thought,
miles above the existing program.
Sit by the door.
You went there.
I offer you
holy ground.
Insert
I mean the new superman,
a new way to Supermind.

My goodness you’ve gone over the top.
We got a new thing goin’.
You’ve got a brand new pair of shoes.
He’s all mad at yah,
Sonny—
I’m not sure all the time.
Who else?
I’m not sure about Nithish.
Lookin’ at yah.
Can we get better at ‘im?
Door to shopping
opens in a little while.
He’s your prime target.
A dark smear
settles keeps him in a corner.
I gotta do everything
to get him out of vice.
These are my papers,
and that’s what I’m workin’ on.

A kid gets killed,
and we’re in the front lines
normalizin’ it.
I don’t think we understand the history of science.
Our very lives show this to us,
but we can’t see it:
the whole society ruins children.
It’s a combat zone:
fuck you do your homework.
We lay them in bed
a manage them to sleep:
oh I’m eager to get out of there you clingin’ thing.
Or you test them in their underwear with your dick fingers,
rubbin’ butts.
Either way,
you can’t get the story straight:
you believe with them
there’s so much more than dresser drawers in the room.
Angels glow all along the edges of their minds,
monsters dwell.
They can see them in the corner,
hear them in the closet.
You think their imagination wild.
You don’t know what’s goin’ on.
If you did you’d run out of the room screamin’.
Your sanity couldn’t take it.

But let’s get back to business, shall we?
Kids glow.
They have otherworldliness to them
we’ve forgotten about.
They live there.
We see the form,
forget the consciousness inside.
They’re lust to us
or dreadful things we have to manage,
and in-between those two poles most lie.
Have I hit yah yet?

My boy is in a livin’ emergency,
and nobody cares.
I’ve shown this to the room.
I’ve shown this to Town Hall:
he suffers still.
We think there’s monsters there
in the love of this foreigner for this boy,
or we just want ‘im with his own kind.
Can you count that?

We don’t know children are kings and queens of livin’ life,
and they need more than us.
They need a breath of God on their tops,
and they need the substance of their souls
to be their playmate in time.
They need to get away from the Darkness in the world
and not give their little boy’s livelihood
to the darkness in the corner
goin’ bad in a hand basket.
We can’t see Hell edgin’ up upon their life.
Another soul down,
so many millions left to go
They say.

My boy’s there
turnin’ inta vice,
furious at his parents and the world
for making that child obey
and renounce his own freedom
and tear off of his lips and eyes
any mention of that foreigner,
who is me,
and they beat ‘im
until he complied.
Can I guess here?
I’ve seen it with my own eyes,
this tremblin’ little figure
afraid of his own shadow,
and I can do nothing to stop him
from being afraid,
his fear of the world,
late at night,
his fear of death.
I envelope him with my consciousness,
but that’s not enough.
That boy needs held.

You won’t let me do that,
satisfied he’s in his parents’ hands
for good or ill.
Oh the woes of parental not by blood,
but yah been there since he was born.
You only like adoption papers to make that real.
Can we be a kid again?
Can we see the emergency
that we have known with children all through human history
but have never seen?
Stop child abuse!
oh you stupid thing.
Stop you from hurting kids
by burying them in the world
and sealing that coffin with school
and other blind things
that have no reason why kids be.
You just wanna make them grow up
or be a football to play with.
You’re not inta their things,
their larger than life’s,
their Woodstock imagination,
and it didn’t rain.

I gave Nithish that glow,
what he wears himself
in his distance from time.
I let ‘em have it,
the freedom to take his kids’ reins
and mount the world with ‘em.
He loved it there—
no rules,
no spankings,
just guidance.
I yelled loudly I’m sorry
in moments I regret now.
He was just bein’ a kid,
testin’ limits and naughty.
Even the preacher cuss.

What do we do with children?
We let them have their head
in safety tips,
and we don’t vacuum their room
with a pain in the ass,
and we let them be stars
of our attention,
and punishment only makes them meaner
or more rebellious
when we’re not lookin’,
when they get out.
A submissive child is a dead child,
and they’ll bring dictators into the room
when they’re older.
See the world now?
Populist hell.

I let Nithish glow with his own feelings.
didn’t rob them,
and that was a school for me.
I gave him candy.
I took ‘im to the movies
in the middle of the night,
when he liked to go.
On the way home we played monster chasing us
or zombies in the middle of the road
reachin’ out for us.
I put reality there
by parkin’ my bike and runnin’ off
yellin’ eat the kid not me!
He would squeal with delight and belly laugh,
after his imagination let go of him,
the monster had returned to his lair,
the zombie apocalypse had ended.
I know how to manage a kid
with their own imagination.
It is prime time for them.

What is my purpose with him?
Oh I want that little boy happy
with himself now.
The adult can wait.
I want him to feel the breeze
of his own freshness
and what makes him so special
in a world where everybody’s the One.
I want him to love himself,
not be afraid of time,
but more than anything else
he has his own destiny
I want him to live for,
why his soul can down on Planet Earth.
That had nothing to do with small business.
I’m the upholder of his destiny,

and I like it there.

I’m his keeper,
because he’s still a child.
Why would jealousy pull him away from me
and you let them?
I’ll be back
the daddy he calls daddy
in just a little bit of room,
not much time as the crow flies.
Come on let’s go,
gimmie your will
so this can come.
Do you hear me stars
and all ye people you?
Bring the child.

The world is paper thin really.
Monsters glare.
Angels sing.
The world behind the world is bigger than the world.
You don’t see this?
Your kids do.
No let’s go over time.
It laughs to be alive
full metal jacket.
Children’s class,
there’s immediately a hole in the water.
It bites.
Writin’ kid once in you,
how far did that go?
You’re with Nithish.

Quite a ballgame.
I hope that’s my intestines tellin’ me I’m rush.
It was one on one flavor.
With no little boy here to share it with,
it was foreign.
Do you know the hole the world makes when you’ve lost your child?
It’s like infinity in the room.
You can’t understand its price.
It sucks.
I have to live there.
What do I do to get out of it?
I can’t do nothin’, my child can.
In the blackness of his state,
he has to get better.

He’s 12 goin’ on nine,
and there’s a football in the room.

He’s discovered pornography I hear
and sits there with his friends,
all hellions,
and has them corrupt him to land’s end.
He goes there to escape the wild,
a single room home where he’s stifled and crushed,
the invasion of his privacy a misdemeanor
the boy can’t afford,
the rule of his mother a felony
that makes him question his sanity.
She will not shut up.
She will not let him breathe.
The fear is he will see me,
and she took him for her vice not mine,
after a lifetime together
his end.
Insanely jealous,
she watches his every mood.
Is he thinking of me?
Has he called me on the phone?
These things are forbidden
and when she sees me on his face
she whips him for it.
His father’s a killer who only comes on the weekends,
and he’s plotting another murder
I kid you not.

These are the parents you chose him be with.
These are the parents you admire.
Can you get any worse?
I can’t handle this.
Protecting children I thought was your right and mood.
Turns out you only care if you touch their penis.
All else is permissible done to a child.
All else is warranted.
All else fails
to get your attention in any meaningful way that helps.
I live this,
your hypocrisy.
I only get your likes,
and damn few of those,
but let’s be patient here.
There is a poet I know in Israel that cares,
and not every reader is a penis-monger.
Some genuinely feel this,
but I’m courting people right now,
in the bowels of the situation,
who have the power to confront the parents
and at least end the blockade
of no outer contact
with the child I raised
since he was a wee little boy.
They’re Tamil and live here
in positions that can help.
Who says they do?
No, that’s online.
I am a foreign man and they are not.
They don’t give me the legitimacy of parenthood,
because how can I?
I’m not even Tamil,
and I cannot prove my worth
with my tears and broken heart and concern for my child.
I look like some guilt monster wanting to steal theirs,
so identify they do with Tamil people.

I can’t get around that.
You’d tell me to be quiet,
or end the attachment,
like it’s a perverted cross.
You should see his song
he wrote for me:
"all the bad voices are saying bye;
all the good voices are saying hi."
They say that loudly.
His whole life is on hold
waiting to see me again.
I’m daddy.

Can you gauge love in a boy’s heart.
Unexpressed it doesn’t die.
Ordered to kill it he don’t.
It grows beyond the mountaintops
and plays there with the Gods.
They have him arm and arm
with total control
to keep me out of his eyes and ears
and me off his lips,
because they are jealous of me there,
and in all this blackness more blackness comes.
In the absence of me
he races too see friends
they’ve gave him permission to be with,
who are the signposts to gangs,
boys already addicted to vice,
who are the real danger for him to be with.
His parents are oblivious to the boy’s plight.
They’re just controlling him from me.

This is bastardly sucks.
Let’s do away with it.
Let’s return this boy home
where his heart is.
Let’s give him the freedom to do that.
Okay crowd,
let’s have some high rollin’ here
and get that boy off the table and back to his house,
the American me.
It’s not fun.
Hey you two pass my way.
I’m not bein’ sarcastic.
I’m talkin’ to the two Tamils who can help.
See them there?
A will collective move on their will
and speed this process up.
They have the power.
They really do.
Come on people let’s ride.

I’m countin’ on Syria
to kick out Islamic State.
Can we get there?
I go over the mountain.
All I know,
judging from your path,
I think you’re right.
You keep raising your voice.
You’re grasping at straws to get him back.
You let me know
anywhere loaded on ‘im,
some trapdoor to sex.
My sympathies then,
and I’ll call child welfare there in India
and get him taken care of.

Okay choir,
would you settle for ruinin’ his life?
Oh my God chop me to pieces.
You’re comprised by sex
in Texas.
Do you know where the dropbox is?
You’re wonderful,
and another one’s kicked off the Earth,
no tongue.
Someone sent me a message.
I’m just gonna read part of it.
You take unborn babies and make them king,
but kids themselves you beat,
and punishing them is your right.
You want the submissive child.

You’re lookin’ beyond graves,
if we can,
beyond that boy has a penis but thinks he’s a girl.
You’re gonna take it seriously
kids need to be protected
from abuse.
Now “The Use of Animal Freedom”
really identifies with kids,
what’s about to turn on in Nithish full force.
the fact that he has a dick and wants to use it.
I can’t get you to see this in a children almost teen.
What do you do with their puberty,
make them wear church,
make them put a sock on it?
And if she’s a girl?
Is that the one
you need most
to no button down there?
Why of course ring maker.
Kids go to perdition so easily
when they’re buddin’.

Kill it,
kill it inside them,
their natural born feelin’.
Transgender wars hell,
you’re workin’ to make a warehouse of kids
to not even look down there
to check out what they got,
and you are so worried about them in the womb.
You’re so cross fingers with them in the womb,
but you pull their pants down and spank them
just for bein’ a kid.
Texas you’re the vice I’m talkin’ to.
Hey Texas leave those kids alone!
All they are is another brick in the wall?

I liked the sound better
with a mouse.
That’s great.
That’s not acceptin’.
Gotta get some lunch bags too.
Outgoin’ calls,
the hammer is no.
I’ll let you feel safe.
You’ve lost your mind.
You give kids no sexual expression at all,
and you think this rides their freeways.
It rides their hidden vice.
It used to be in your desk,
overcoming desires.
Did I hand it to yah?
Come on,
what do you needed to do it?
Looking at
come here Bruno,
come here! (vision of Bruno, our Doberman, running away from me to the front of the house, and I’ve just let him out the back door)
Get your pumpkin right.
Self-control, self-measure you teach them.

Fit there she goes to sleep.
You don’t give her any room to breathe
on her own paper.
You deny reality and with it the child.
You’re underage
a God looking in on Himself.
You put conservatives in the White House,
governor of the state,
with your kid’s vote,
and you stand around and watch children die.
Here he comes.
You’re too big
to get the world to see my child.
You know how it goes.
We murder children in their sleep
so they are zombies all life long.

A lot of this
good agency,
what I’m giving you now.
Follow their lead.
Even playing with themselves they’re bringing in a better world,
when it’s not porn-play
or adult hand in there.
Even thought about kicking themselves up,
they’re watching themselves up.
When we allow them to get dressed
in personal animal freedom,
the cops come,
depending upon who you are,
and ban everything.
Oh Texas
and my world,
you need Freedom School. [a school in the movie Billy Jack]
Hello napkin,
I wondered why I was burnin’ down there.
Such large members,
such a tiny space
we fit them into,
such a large package.
Oh my God world see this.

We go hand in hand
with proper sexual expression,
and that’s not with an adult,
and it’s not only with their own hand.
I just stepped off the world
and into a better science,
as I’ve just entered your living room,
and I must be polite and leave.
What the hell do you want?!
Thy peacemaker.
Give the kids their genitals,
how they are
when not one’s lookin’.
Let child know
they can control themselves
how they are around dog:
napkin,
grab that fucking napkin!
And you’ve situated one of the building blocks to peace on Earth.

I’m fresh and alive, aren’t I?
I study reality,
but I do not rank there.
So be it,
but I’ve just written into the ether
a better way of doing things,
a better Nithish brought home.
I’m on a rollercoaster can you feel it?
And I’m not there to make you scream.
I want the end of the world
that puts kids in prison boxes and sends them to school,
that puts chains around their necks and sends them to school,
that pits them against their own bodies.
Why do you wanna cut your dick off?
Don’t you see reality?
Talkin’ to a transgender kid,
made there
not by gender diaspora,
by no one accepting his genitals growing up
and givin’ them release.
When you slice your dick off,
sew up you’re vagina,
you’re not expressing need;
you’re all wrapped up in society’s handlin’ of your food,
and the table’s sexuality.
Did I just ruin my poem?
No, I just ended it.

You better run, run, run, run, run,
talkin’ ‘bout a revolution.
[two above lines heard sung by Tracy Chapman, “Revolution”]
Move through ideas the city of human unity,
why did you do that?
What did you just do?
What did I just do?
I gave you a whole nuther head on children.
I gave you a whole nuther head on sex.
Read this thing so you can copy it fast.
I met too many here Guests and Newcomers. [social divisions in Auroville, India]
You think the divine is divine labor
on which you source,
rules and how to get there.
It’s not that honey it’s more.
Rollin’ in agony upon the hills
you end up later.
Hey picked Asiya and the house is comin’ down.
You’re Indian.
What right do I have to speak?
I’ve been asking my fat emotional body this.
I know the score
between children and their parents,
what you do with a divine in the room.
I’ve got expert topics,
and I’m not afraid to use them.

This is all prewash.
If you’re candy was Disneyland,
what was I?
They would tell you if they’re at.
They would threaten.
I talked to ‘im.
It was on his computer.
He’s a down and under hope dispenser.
He makes virtue and art Hitler’s birthday.
Down at that office,
we’re gandin’ from abandoned puppy too.
You don’t know how to lift up the race,
but we don’t lead you astray.
You lift up the biggest name in evil too,
not to condone them,
to rectify them.
We’ve lots of him.
I don’t see him anymore.
I got my check balanced.
I’m rose in the room,
and it just took me away.

What Intelligence writes your stuff?
The one that makes the flower,
the one that sees Earth a testing ground for souls.
I’m supramentalizing.
There’s a harmony in my pen,
not law and order
or we make rules,
but I talk about the important stuff
and reel you in with it.
My God this is not enjoyable.
I gotta put rings around mountains:
man is,
you have to do it man.
Now my little boy’s gone.
I would almost boycott poetry but
that’s not the flavor of this writing:
hey Luna, come to yourself any discussion. [Luna Rottweiler]
I’m tryin’ to show you somethin:
we are not on Mars.
That was a habitable island destroyed
in such a long, orbiting time ago.
We’ll see how it goes with Earth.
We help you.

One of your favorite,
one of your favorite teams,
I’ve tried to photograph me close relationship
to understand principles and stars,
to go beyond them.
I’m divine heavy in your room.
I’m tryin’ to lift you up to see the sky
beyond Mind.
I don’t get to go until you do.
We are a connected lot,
but I been up there before.
To say it’s the writing on the bathroom door,
it’s not;
it’s just there.
I’m a field take,
and I’m tryin’ to get you out there to play
a roaring game of baseball
so we can sees each other,
put our guns down,
stop shooting people.

You don’t know the price in the room
for hating anybody,
even those who hate you,
and I’m workin’ with Nithish’s parents,
who refuse to even speak to me.
You’re the judgmental party.
For Nithish’s parents,
the hatred just comes out of the woodwork,
suddenly picked.
You’re almost there:
understand their stupidity
and don’t hate them for it.
Gwen, okay?
An almost businessman came up.
She hates me I’m her brother.
She may even read this poem,
someday.

I’ve been hurt by hate too.
I have this social stigma,
and I’m the most hated man in the crowd.
This stigma’s hated;
people don’t know me.
I’m wish I’m done
with speaking through alleyways in your hole,
but I do feel better doin’ divine will.
No one reads me yet,
or damn few.
The audience and his poet,
do you have to have one to have the other?

I did ninety pushups and sit-ups each day.
I’m exercising wholeness and healing.
Will you give me a hand?
We gotta see the wholes,
and it’s a together report card.
I really need help with my boy,
get him out of trouble
and onto victory lane.
All this dramatic poetry,
this is a bank.
I’m writin’ poetry for my boy
so he can sees himself
an inner poet.
I pass this onto him in the inner consciousness.
He gets it.

The help of Robin,
it can help
when David,
who puts landscapes together,
afforded my report.
Will they put you in jail?
Not your question among you.
You just unload this poet on a public conveyor belt.
Anyway I got room to grow
and so does he.
He’s a contact Earth named poetry.
Accessible
he would make me.
I love your
fine wine.

Okay let’s borrow mine
and get down to Earth poetry.
Believe your death you must navigate.
I was making a significant Boomer’s salad when I made this for you,
when I bear this for you.
Let’s see how fast he gets here,
once your will’s a ridin’ him home.
Yes, yes, it takes a long time
just to roll up your sleeve.
Gotten Aidia’s attention,
hopefully in wheelbarrows.

That’s a great poem.
Why thank you,
a fresh fish in a factory.
It’s got labels on it this time.
Great vehicles on Earth
the poets are.
The print out,
it’ll be cave free.
We’ll do it in the mornin’.
It’s the head of the whole thing.
How many wheels does a truck driver have?
A collection of poems published in India
in a book see.
I hope you see there.
Can you say large collection?

Even a little bit apart,
he’s been us with the whole time.
Is what facilities you may use.
Him coming home,
and he gets not that shit from me,
a bad policeman.
Three times as big
key presenter,
I asked the cinema to work it out in peace
number 9.
I wanna hold your hand. [line heard sung by the Beatles, line song title]
I’m expressing need.
You need to see this.
It don’t feel like something we just said
Auroville Press made real—
I’ve encountered basically
the tune of the ages.
I suppose
you lookin’ at ‘im,
the whole prophet of Auroville,
nine inch skin.
I am constantly created.
Only in summary is he wet behind the ears.
On Old Galveston Road
he went into the nature of Supermind.

Your heart in your ears,
your ears in your heart,
oh there you are. (vision of Nithish sitting on the floor one knee up, he running his hand through the bangs in his hair like he’s a bit frustrated)
He’s comin’ home soon.
I gave preference to The Silmarillion.
Gonna detail now the Samadhi. [holds the bodies of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo]
The Samadhi—
hey how’s it goin’?
Tryin’ to watch
he’ll come be here soon.
I love you,
my beloved
teacher and master in time.
Trapped his voice
on this recorder
as he measures time Sri Aurobindo
and thank you Mother.
I’m an anomaly.
I look at my boy and smile and look at God later,
and that’s where I put God’s eyes,
on my little boy lookin’ at me.
It’s so we kosher together
and have fun.
That’s how you manage time.

Let’s go down this road.
Look, there’s the really afraid.
You do not
boy blue darkness,
step over him,
in how you hold God.
You hold God in that boy.
He’s not your image of God.
I look into your little eyes,
speak the account
God has with me.
Did I say that correctly?
We’re on Earth,
and we’re here to stay.
God on Earth,
and we are Supermind,
the supramental manifestation managing its creation.

Did I blasphemy?
I gave you a measure of God
in the balance of His show.
God is always bigger than any robe He wears,
any riding car,
bigger than those little boy’s eyes,
and we’ve arrived at the end of the poem.
He’ll be home soon,
and thank you God,
down lower,
gettin’ inta those eyes.