Special thanks for this moment— Bruno. At his side, he getting a life-saving blood transfusion, I wrote the poem
The most gates at society, hey! Propped on the sand in an eurythmic sweet sense, I look at humanity in raw oysters. There’s nothing there that makes us rise above our bull. We get decimated sometimes, and the humility lasts an hour. I don’t understand all this mess. It’s popcorn and candy to our sense of self tryin’ to prove our worth to one another. Look how big I am, and we can say that so subtly. I mean look at me will yah?
Can we spend this? It’s expensive not to see. I count this in humanity in everywhere I wait, in all the plays of the crowd. I want to get bigger than myself. Little everybody treats me, and I’m offended in my self-wears, and little I am. I can’t seem to see this when I’m in a fight. I don’t know how to handle it when I’m spellbound. Can I list my achievements please? Can I show you my worth, again?
Do I have to eat lunch with myself again? You’re not listening to me. If I was two I’d pitch a fit. That’s where I learn to get you to pay attention to me. I get expert at it by the time I’m twelve, and then all hell breaks loose, and I’m just shit-canned again, too old to get my way. Is that when the braggin’ starts? I have got to show you I’m worth, but I’ve lost all the old ploys, and I’m doin’ it again, wantin’ you to validate my self-worth the modicum of humanity.
Is that all turned on to kick-start our humanity, the pedestal I preach to you? Wow, I can sound so good in words. Do I hide behind my writing I knock down every word I say in some pinch or another that my hypocrisy wears? The hypocrisy of others stuns me. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere on the planet. There is no accountability for it.
Wow do I read sweet words. Can you solve the problem with love without love? You just get likes for it. Nowhere does it bring social change. The social understanding that you’re the victim too, my God that’s the pants we wear. Get people arrested will yah? That’s all you’ve done. You’ve crime and punishmented the thing. Everybody gets mad at people. It’s how you social change, with a baseball bat, but we can’t hypocrisy our way out of this. Love has to be love or it’s not love. Understanding holds you sweet. It doesn’t embarrass you in front of the crowd.
Where do we go with our social understanding to see the lies arise in everybody where we find our brotherly love? Can you understand that? I can’t cover this. I can’t even say it. You just write beautiful words. You don’t mean them, and there’s no way to show you you don’t. You’ve got that covered. You can’t see them in the arms they wear. You can make yourself sound pretty good, but unconscious springs get yah when the spell of your unconscious arise and offers your behavior to meanness.
There is not a day I don’t encounter this in somebody. You’ve encountered a rat in everything society says about me. The principles of love and pray don’t apply here, and you have permission to shoot me in your thought, and that’s a release mechanism like all society wears. If I even say the name you’ll hate me, and there is no way out of this.
I could have done a better poem and kept my social status out of this, but we can’t spend your hypocrisy on nothin’. You’re just bruise your shield in that unspeakable name. Now where you at? I don’t think it’s in loving shares. Oh you do your family alright, a satellite I, but to love humanity you must wear everything in humanity you hate, identifying with that behavior. It don’t come out any other way, the principle in your subconscious communicating that spell “oh I’ve encountered someone I don’t like,” and in the roles of identity you have to know you’re there: I am humanity. This gets larger than everybody, but you can’t find it without accepting everybody.
The roles are mean, even in children, and I need to see this in myself, and I bridge it that way to its appropriate goodness. You hear this now. I’m taking myself and getting myself out of the way, not for any humanity worth, not so you can see me. I just want to be myself, okay, the actual me, the thing I am behind the play, not yet angel wings, but the natural me that’s not stuck to anything that can afford to be nice because nice is what it does our human soul, and nary a subconscious spell can touch it, no matter where you meet life.
The basement’s all cleaned out, and this comes down from on high, if you want to know the truth of it. You can’t just declare your love. You have to raise it up out of you in the skeletons you wear. Can you get my pen rose? Can you hear it please? You have to get down and dirty and clean, at least in the eyes you wear. Whatever you do, see it.
I’m gettin’ down to the natural colors of my room. Do you hear that? Look at yourself some mirror. Roles involved with sweetness, and you’re being bigger than the heys of the crowd. Just don’t recognize that’s where you want mental health to go. Good for her, good for him, take advice.
I had to work in a cave last night. I’m afraid. Bring me back. Wastin’ the water when electricity was comin’. [sing verse]
Can we be expendable? I don’t even know if that’s the question. Do we just acquiesce to everything, ride out time like it’s a bump in the road? I feel my larger spheres pent up in here, and I know I’m expendable.
I don’t know how to find time. I’m just a hole in the ground in any largeness I make. People just want to get me for it, counting victims in my pen. A few loyal survivors have the guts to hear me and not have me taken off.
I just wanna do away with it all. Do you say that, overwhelmed by existence, how it doesn’t all work out, how you go home one day, and people have put a fence, blocking your access road, how you get slapped for kindness and sincerity, how you can’t even trust yourself to be good when your free will’s compromised by the shade from black night?
I’ve put on this flesh I know. A body of man I’ve put on. I wear existence’s sleeves, and sometimes I think it’s a punishment. I just want my boy to come home.
How do you know a poet’s worth? They remind you of yourself where you touch ground. They grab existence and almost show it to you. They tell yah where you’re at when you’re on the moon, and they will lay with you in hell if you’re sorry of the pentance you’re payin’. I’ve grabbed a purgatory slot. Hear my worth as I try to find my time today.
Who you be lookin’ for, someone with words better than me, someone who can grab the times today and get all Tennyson on yah? I’m alone with Shakespeare you know, grabbin’ his hat and puttin’ on my day, all sound and fury. I get all field on yah. I life this to you. I'm not an idiot. I’m a Neptune in the history of fishes.
I can get Barbra Streisand. I can put on symbols like they’re lunch. I can really tag you in the sound of these words when they’ve jumped off a cliff and pulled a child’s pants down to show you they’re lost there and grow up fighting any sticky business that puts you there.
I’m about a wheel and chain on the road to time. I want you to grow up and give chances out on freeways. I want you to be kinder than you are, not as clannish always in control. I want you to be better than that, not even giving me a word I’m supposed to touch.
I’m your poet today, like it or not, that brings poets’ meanings home. I’m Jack Field. Test my word in life. No edit summary.
We have everything to do with being creatures on a role planet. Our time in space blackens our time in thought. I promote myself spits in the wind. Art and thought, I wonder if you feel anything derelict. I’ve perished this bloom. Since everybody’s here, except any majority of people, I might as well clear my throat.
What do I hog to you today? I wanna pull existence out of the hat, be right on the ground of being. I want you to say, "that’s me." I put it in flower pots. I sit here all day and fight it, our anonymous with each other. This is stadium big.
We are all points in space too big for our britches. We see ourselves huge in other’s eyes. I’m talkin’ about ourselves. We feel and think and be the center of any room, so big to ourselves, and even if we are not the reason everybody’s there, we see reality that way.
Take us off the megalomania lists. I’m just talkin’ what it means to be human, or the dog in the corner, or the ant in the windowsill, and you know that plant think? It’s just not corralled its self-aware. It just does not pedal to the end of the room. Those thoughts aren’t in motion, but you’ve got a plant big there, everybody in the room.
How do I toll the star-gate? We are stuck on one world in our rounds of thought. We cramp existence here. Oh my God the experiment, would it be the same in every laboratory? Can we count existence a cheat? Does it handicap worlds, universes, or does it just stage things properly?
Do you know you’re blind, deaf, and dumb to what you see on the inside of the person sitting next to you, or leaving a comment, or submitting a poem, or who’ve you’ve encountered on the news? Their inner reality is blind to yours. We have bleeding cakes in dream and vision and in our thought wares unawares, but these things are disguised.
You can’t hear another person fill reality’s room. You only hear yourself. Hey Jim, let’s create a world… Screw this. You handicappers. Can I explain the problems in the world?
Taste another person please. Know they’re there as big as you, and if they think they’re bigger, well, how many times does this happen in any given day? We have to mitigate it.
They’re just stupid that’s all, like we all are. I’m sorry you’re stupid too. Do you treat everybody as you, give them a break, the benefit of the doubt, or forgive them their trespasses? You will have a million excuses why you can’t identify with them.
Come on people please. You’re the center of everybody’s pole, as you imagine them looking at you, but they put themselves there, you know? We can get better at it, givin’ people the credit they deserve, givin’ people their own self in our very own eyes.
Who’s humanity in the room? Can a poet speak that voice? Can we ride poetry there? The productivity’s there be a hurt bag and find humanity. And watch everybody spill the beans.
I am so very blacklisted, I could rise to the occasion and blossom humanity in my heart and write it down in gifted speech, and they would just turn and look the other way, the stadium managers in humanity, who’s who who block poems. Now do you hear me blossom humanity? Now do you hear me blossom poems?
A bridge is the universe. We are reality big. It’s a major crossing. Focus on the many aspects of this visual poem heard while doing science. In a round about way put it on your shoulder I’m your friend. It’s been a lot of Scottish in here. I’ve done a daily put people in the shoes with me. He put the swim in there. I am the render in time, the render in space, that’s the One I’m worth.
That farm, that house is play, here’s where you too, not the separate consciousness but the localized in space, God of the whole evolves. That’s the cherry blossom. That’s where we all rise in sync. I’m an American band I’m comin’ through your town, [sing line] this is exactly what the stadium room, that cherry bloom.
This is a photo-poem from my Twitter/X account, and there are years of them there. This one was posted December 11, 2020. It came in vision the other night to post it here.
Harm's End 