This poem began where Death went off his office,
and it revealed.
It’s beginning to baby us,
political allies.
About exit,
what does it reveal today?
We’re not safe in our own shoes.
Death is the beginning of misery.

I kill myself from the beginning I bet.
It’s a written,
a written piece of paper.
Now I left coins of me, shekels,
splashes of time,
in your jukebox.
They’re horrible.
It didn’t work.
I could not write my name in the sky.

Just how do you do?
I’m small pittens for small fare,
smaller than that.
I just do your head in, don’t I?
Come talk to me I’m worth?
And you don’t.
[The sound of laughter here]
You’re the wrong people.
You’re not wearin’ soul shoes.

This is message for the times today.
We did love.
We’ve lost some trying to get it in there now.
What in the hell’s a matter?
It’s the go car looking for enlightenment
brown.
Make alright boy that’s it cut the track.
Just need to think your love can speak. [sing line]
Freedom caring,
just need to think.
Some of it has been miracles in the room. [sing line]
One at a shot have a world education. [sing line]
He’s called a creature of a dying world
job,
little until tea tomorrow.
You’re getting good at it.
Leadership is worship.
Bake down,
ask about your soul technology.
Become immortal.

Before my life was over,
I want to find what my life was in.
I’m normally ask that,
if I haven’t given up on life.
Would you lay with me [sing line to tune of song of that name]
all over this answer?
It’s not a field of stone.
It holds us all in tight keeping,
but it’s not the angel in the room.
This is pre-God ladies and gentlemen.
Can you hacksaw that?

I’m getting deep into society’s ways.
I’ve just found Spirit,
the first covering of the Unknown.
It’s how we have being.
It’s where we come from.
A great big Spirit wears everything.
It fashions God.
We’re getting into preexistence ladies and gentlemen,
when only the Formless arise.
Can you imagine nothing as its sailboat?

What’s the rule of this ship?
Don’t fashion nothing.
Expand into global waters.
Make existence be
to pronounce Itself.
Spirit is the first form it wear,
that makes for us souls.
It’s aligned with God,
but it’s not God.
It’s the soul,
the basic who we are.

You can touch that ship
in intimate contact,
feel it ride the wherewithal of your day.
It can take over
and rubs your belly with sweetness,
and you are charged for awhile
with everything’s honey.
You see the soul in things.

How can you do this in a concentration camp,
in the worst hell on earth?
That’s the soul of the ages
in bare bones reality
giving you eyes to see.
Overcoming physical pain is one thing.
Watching cruelty mark the Earth,
devour babies,
and we’ve gotten down to the purpose of soul:
don’t let it in,
the despair.

The soul can get you out of this,
even in the midst of it's bear.
We are a sublime soul range,
God gave us Savitri reads,
and this is down on earth.
We tarry there.
The soul is completely out of this picture,
the whole fortnight
of evil takes our ship.
The soul is not responsible for sin.
It loads up our day
with the honor we give one another
for being the Itself to Itself,
and we feel sweetness everywhere
and principles of joy.

This can break in on us
in the hell we have made of our lives,
or what others have made us suffer.
It can even break the dull routine of the days.
It can be in ordinary
and lift on you extraordinary in every mode you wear.
There’s no end to the soul’s keeping.
It’s the basic ground of everything.
It’s goodness rides the high seas.
It has so much feeling for everyone.
A plant is to it existence
and little dogs so lovingly looked upon.
It can hold matter in its hand,
and you don’t want to bruise that ship either.
You’re careful with everything.
You have respect for the Earth.
You are never out of love,
even when you see society’s nigger,
the people we are allowed to hate.

I can’t fashion this for you.
The soul is a mystery you know,
but I can tell you how to do it,
reach for soul,
let it in.
You grasp it all the time
in bridges you wear.
It’s the most common thing in life,
coming upon your feelings,
and you feel so alive with everything,
and you want no harm done
to the aliveness in front of you.
You feel the pain of the Earth,
the sorrow,
disguised as your own or your close neighbor’s,
and you grasp your loved ones to yourself
and be good to them.
You feel ranges of Spirit
right there in your baked pie.

A moment of eternity has looked in on you,
and you feel sublime with the Earth.
You hold them with your children,
these feelings,
or your best friend’s face,
and you love to pet your dog with them
like you’re petting moon time.
You want to protect everything don’t you?
And you put down your enmity for a minute.

Can we range there,
take those feelings to the sky?
We can sure get along there,
if we try.
There’s more to soul science you know,
but I’m trying to get you started on thin ice.
We don’t know how to handle the world.
It ruins our day,
even when we’re drinkin’ with it,
but we are not left out of soul.
It envelopes everything,
and when existence can be anything,
the soul is there first a witness,
then a power
to bring the soul round to things,
and you just have to grasp it
in what I’m saying now.

Is everything okay?
Is everything alright?
I wear society like a sleeve,
and they do not worth me in it,
not even my own kin.
I am left apart by everybody.
Few call my name.
I’m treated well by Douglas
and a few others.
My child cannot call my name,
and though he is living I cannot see him.
I live in isolation,
bearing pain.
I look at the specter of death.
I’m in danger of society’s wrath.
It sneezes on me.

Have you ever seen the sun
and the mysteries of existence?
I’ve pulled them out of my pocket.
I’m a crash course in reality.
I write this to you now
in poetry that has never been seen before,
and I’m a black bag.
Society won’t read me.
It spits my name out,
never calls it.
I want you to recognize
this pavilion.
I want my boy back
and safe,
and I want all of you to be safe.

How can one man’s love change the world?
If it opens up the eyes of God it can.
It can bring us to soul.
I rabbit there
and show you soul moments,
a day or an hour,
I can see because I wear.
It’s close to enlightenment’s springs,
and I refuse this honesty just as much,
feeling my pain,
my isolation
and the loss of my boy,
who tells me he’s walking in a void,
in secret messages,
and he’s lost on himself
no light he can see.

I bear these days
not as a guerrilla.
I return again and again to the house of soul,
what I’m lifting up for you to see
in a certain light
that give us release from pain,
and I love you there,
even though you give me the cold shoulder,
again.

Rushing through a path of ambulance,
I participate.
I don’t promote my own story.
I hand it to you
because it’s how I found out things.
I’d rather not tell it
as honestly as I do.
This does not do me good.
It gets me ignored,
not a poet in good standing,
and no one will promote my work,
except a fellow poet in Israel
I can count on to call my name.

Just at the home of mankind,
I’ll have the day at some point,
and I’m in your picture
of what everything means.
For now I want to pass ships.
I’m on a mission
to get past my own boat.
Come get me please.
You’ll like what you see.