If you are reading this poem on a phone, note that the integrity of the lines, a major feature of poetry, is not displayed properly. Many if not most get cut short because of the small screen.

How do we know each one of us is a liar?
How do we know each one is true?
We’re not criminals anymore,
those of us thinking the worst of you.

It’s just procedure,
the inhumanity of our times,
despite all the books that say so:
let’s get our humanity down to a science,
the feelings test,
the look in the eyes,
the agreements made by hand
and not the machine.

The ones who take our humanity to the test
crowd us up upon ourselves
the attitude of
you are a liar until proven guilty.
We would just make them mad writing poems on their behalf.

Just to get a library card
you have to take a lie detector test,
and you live right next door,
can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt you live there,
without paper-wiping the machine.

Oh God give me a break
you’re playing trivial pursuit—
the one who looked me in the eyes and needed confirmation they were true. /
I’m as tall as grass,
and this is buggin’ the shit out of humanity:
prove you’re a human being.

It’s everywhere apparent
we’re crowdin’ in on each other,
and you have to prove the rule of the machine.
Oh my God bylaws,
and I’m a derelict for sayin’ so?

We are all too common now,
the gateway to total control
the way we are with each other.
Can I sing this to you
where we bake our bread?
Poetry doesn’t have a shoreline.
It’s unhanded.
It’s not the way we have with books.

Now they’re for leisure time.
It’s not to challenge us in our thinking.
It’s not to make waves
where we meet each other
to take us back to square one
in mutual trust.

How do we lift the veil
and get yah to read a poem?
Any poem points to the human being
getting higher than themself.
Can you copy that?
It can be in an estuary
along a manatee’s spine line
so glad you’re there leavin’ them alone.
You feel better
highin’ their part with you.

Now give that to everything
you need to look at.
Home owner’s insurance,
are you sure you got a poem there?
It’s the poems that take on life
and better us with ourselves,
and you’re not whistlin’ Dixie.
Wow, I’ve landed a poem.