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O troubadour of the modern age where forth in your wandering why are you selected secretly sedentary steep in the self-humbling security blanket of the university go you bold blooded into the seductive sedulous streets where your people wait wanting to laugh and weep where Pushkin pushing pounds of poem in Williams Carlo Williams’ red wheel barrow along the streets of St. Petersburg where he yield his way to the young knowing in his heart that the children shall play about his ashes when the children come O go you boisterous rhinoceros rhyme royal rhythmic rescript of the immoral image you who imbibe the working of the soul you who have lost you innocent by intercourse with the angles you who confess all even the ambition itch of the systematic preciousness of words you stretch the bounteous boundary of a bountiful body in a world of conformity say to your peoples look to me I am the light I am the way I am the equal episodic play of elevated elongationed efflorescence emotion unfolding to bloom on the electroluminescence egotism of your tongue I am the objective ossifrage breaking on the osculum of your breath say what is heard on the mysterious mystagogue of the streets you are the tears of the moon you are the sweat of the sun speak your peace hold not your tongue take on all that may come be one body in the earth be one mind beneath the breath of the moon be the eyes of the singular sun your hair in the head of the trees your semen swim in the muddy mire mirage of the age of the Nile with a moaning molded mouthful of stones and the flesh of your hands torn by the pen with the teeth of your heart that arouses the last of your maddening mindfulness held tight for telling be one with the birth of your poems for as long as it takes let the children come to play and be fed at your breast like the twin of Rome nurse them into leaving home to go among the radiating gesture of the public and belong on the tongue of the streets where there is no accidental birth of poems you are the wanting one the one whishing for the measured willfulness of man be not like the industrialized live stock of modern man packed in their pen such is the comfort conformity of contemporary man hemmed in and hog tied to forestall their wild side placated by the TV light glowing like an old flame to sell us the latest things aiming to make our lives bearable in the need to be one in an age of the resurrection Holy Queen Mother banished by the blessed fruit of the worthy promises O clement O loving O sweet Virgin Mother look down upon your children exiled from the history of evil prayers of the TV that pray for us in the tribe language of selling Christmas in October hail mother mistress to angels the gate of morn is a light born grant may I praise the strength of poets their enemies slaved by the pen I wait their resurrection from the frailty of the streets Mother Mary pray for me that I may see the House Finch singing from the highest branch of an old fruitless Mulberry tree that I may resist the commercialization selling of the birth of your son well born that the poet may be the first to come to the battle for the soul of man O poets with the blood of your pen go into the temples to win Gods as guests into your hearts give words to the temptation of your sins their implements within acknowledge the guilt of the Gods’ hands I summon thee to pretend to pretend that yous are the warriors of the Gods posed to defend with attentive ears let not the worth-full fruit be rotting on the tree of self knowledge pick them for everyone to eat feed the needy soul that hunger hung to know itself my thoughts be with you on your innocent journey to uncover the oppressors clothed in their shameful deeds of gluttony in the fat society of empty bellies betray the treachery and lying lords of the state you command our reverence your poems are our heirlooms writ in words of wisdom woven from the stuff of the common livelihood of being one in a world of many let your divine art speak freely speak richly of the poor shouldering the society of hand to mouth feeding reach beneath their outward appearances reach into the meat of their matter we call you to holy battle for the wisdom of being human the heavy burden is on your shoulders by the practice of your pen are you call to defend plant your discontent that any righteous man should be oppressed by the lack of funds robbed of the working of his soul to know for true wisdom lives in us all the law gives the law take away the wisdom of the Gods must come into play
O poet of the lost wisdom of being one in the world teach us not to tell-tell taunt nature but how to be the food of the Gods let them eat us whole fill their bellies fat with our faith and folly we wait your cunning coming your conniving comfort causing a conductance meditation on the stained sins till its pure and cleansed by your scholar scriptural satisfied ear that hears the fifth oblation of knowing the knowledge of the self under the air under the air is the satisfied eating under the Rain-God’s glory gracious in the quality of its water running the ink of a finished poem dark purple from the black down the page tears from the inner emotions imbed in the illuminates of everything
Poet you are the man in manifestation you are the infatuated festation of wants you are the thunderclap that roar the thunderbolt that enlighten the animals in men’s clothing know that your flesh is but a cloak that you wear that the higher order is within your grasp that the body clock is subject to body time that your life is a rhyme that you are the harvester of the secret truculent truth truncated by the trumpet howling of a wolf caged at the zoo you are not new in the old art of your craft that crave to be understood by the alienating world you with your underground pen that protest the possibility of wrongs done in the name of the great new order colder then the old you are man’s brother sister of the righteous cause to shine your light on the secure emotional working of the world mouth piece of nature alienated sufferers of the Gods the cost of your quest will leave you crucified on the tree of life such is the price for which you must fight for the knowledge that you invite to enter into your pen friend and sometime foe of men fight against the enforced conformity with every cell of your skin ask who am I feel forced to define as you know yourself you know other you see by a difficult light the true right of a murderous moon lit night eaten by the spoon of danger be you my fearless other brother as is priest cousin of the cause that witness to all that seeks to destroy your eccentricities the fertility of your independent individuality as you seeks to aid man in his quest most will annoy you at best raise above their disrespect they know not what they do sue your soul glue your poem to the bill board at bus stops write them in snow your operation is to let the people know shy not from the cause that call to be the mouth piece of all
Poet teach as you teach that all living things are divine and know it in your bones go along for the sake of going explore the unknown travel the untrodden troubled path your poems are lights that illuminate the working of the of the old human soul draw into yourself all that there is to know take on the questions that blows through the streets and make them your own through all the year’s leaves and tears that beam down the brown dreams found beyond all the youth of truth that are the landmark star of their own life bloom from the womb of your hand the unseen noise of girls and boys out about the world in their motion of play with zest in their breast of youthful joy wild in the art of being young the art part of smart of the wrought thought obey the free play of the choice voice that make and take the wide side of joy sacrifice yourself to the knowing of the people be their valentine valid vital voice show them the chubby choice of the world furled into itself its self centered desire its sweep deep hurled into the steep mountains be one with the less distress success of the peoples forgetfulness be the mythological trickster attack the common conventions that keeps us down around the bottom boredom of the every day worry worship of being alive in the law-abiding urban canyons of civilized structures where man’s free instant instincts are represent repressed become a holy fools for your God’s sake against the mundane social society that control us owe us mold us in its cold concrete embrace bodies fast forward forth take note of the agonizing chaos of your society that we have come to far to escape wait upon the lowest man’s needs to know that his life in the crowed city is not all for not let your poems glow as they blow across the ears of the words scented years be one with your pen as if it’s a sword in battle more intimate then the gun get up close and personal with friend and foe seek you to protect the protesting rebel’s sensibility and ability slay the beast of conformity that greedily eat the romance of the common man suffer you not the self mockery self doubt of the hero as victim vital is your quest for self in the concrete forest of metal and reflective glass giving the new light redeem your ego in a Godless universe with its holy indifference for the intellect of man half fool half visionary seek to reconstruct the society that for lack of change and the relentless dependencies of the procurement of money bruise and brand the soul with the dull ordinary and the conventional mood you bare the burden imposed by you habit of the pen of being the redeemer of the ordinary man in the loneliness and suffering you will be made the scapegoat for the myth making goal set before you go exceeding the limits of the self toward the mythic salvation of a revolutionary vision go to depict the new reality that call to you from the breath of the muses set yourself free from the chains of the order of the state and sing the revolutional act that can but save the civil society of man from the drudgery that beseeches him be you made in the image of the Gods and go God like throughout the land where a cultural crisis rules the day seek out the maladjustment that cloth you worship the neurotic judgment of your patois pious protagonist heart necessary to combat the mass society of mass culture of the TV sedating the vision of selfhood do battle with the heroes of financial action that will stall and steal steer us into increasing their wealth transcend the conflict between yourself and society to transform them both into a new worthy vision love the world in spite of its hatred and indifference toward you do not let them drive you to the slicing sideline of literal life in the sum of the skin turn the mounded material of life into the stiff stuff of your art at the service of the common normality of man
Poet of the moment’s momentous monotonous moaning your cries shall not go unheard in the undulating renaissance national streets of the state that lead you to chaos and disorder lead you to the brain-washing order to do the bidding of a state that seeks to control all under the applied appendages of its hands make your allegiance to the citizens to the lowest of the low to the common man with his woeful woes in the materialistic matrix that flow know that you are in danger of always being alone and in that is your strength your vision rooted in your alienation as trickster of the mental of the physical of the spiritual dare to assail the citadel to remake the outer world in your mindful vision that all be well by man the force of your strength is in words where is heard the romantic criticism toward the stale state wishing to maintain the static status quo of the rich financing the control of the poor let the works of your imagination save you let your cultural alienation make you let your hardy heart place you before the pulpit of the people be a wanderer of the city streets to meet yourself on the beat where beauty is real in all of its dark and damp down dirtiness know that nature is a divine spark of which man is a small part of the holiness of trees the wanting holiness of bees the fair flowers bounties blooming in its season of choosing a time table known and nurtured by nature the sharing shine of the sun with its rhyming of wild wily warmth fight against the common drudgery that chain the souls of men to his machines as once the slave in the sugar mills of South Americus teach them the tenderness and intimidating intimacy of nature as Godhead of all knowable knowledge known be self strong enough to do wrong as seen by the eye of the overbearing state wait not upon some unknown hour to go with your poetic powers to be the street priest of the simplest kindness and trust where the machines rust in the sunlight where men in their criminal fight fall on the battle field that is the modern city young men falling by the gun in the hands of youth who seeks power in their powerless lives their disenfranchisement where the young and strong pray upon the old and weak for goods to put them in the life that they are bred to wed let it be said of you that you have given your all to the cause of the welfare of man hold nothing back let nothing lack of your pondering pen let your poems be writ in blood love the unloved do not stand above as some icon of the state wait for the ones who stagger behind leave no man in your waken wake for you are their serpent servants in matter of the head and heart offer the fig of your poetry to all who hunger be at once saint and demon seasoned by the time in your skin let loose your wisdom by the pen again and again till your life-time ends in times of stress on you do man depend to speak of what they keep within a resonation of recognition that all men are kin strike a deadly blow against the commercialization of the soul that the foot solders knows that they are not alone O pieta pieties of poets ponder the death and weep of the lost souls caught to be brought and sold for the stander of gold under valued for the paber price paid they play out their lives in debt from the cradle to the grave this is the way the society expect us to pay for the freedom that we have made commercials’ commercialization is a war waged bombarding us day by day to sell our souls where the poor pay more in a society of things where sickness is a profitable song to sing where credit is the wedding ring poets redeem and recreate the world through your suffering let it be an emotional shield
Poet do not give misogynistic misrepresentation and misinformation but be a honest honor student of the life giving force of the wondrous working of the minaret mind and the bodacious body that call us to the prayers of life facing the raising and setting of the sun you are the father of man teach with your rhythmatic riff that runs on the tongue how to be one within the whole of the world speak of mama birth and papa death the two sided coin and all that lies in-between make our lives an easy thing praise and scold the old habit of being human we wait the working of your pen to teach us of the art of being men O poet of the encrusted sea of words that can be drowned by their many meanings O poet of the transparency of the wind muzzled by the buildings of downtown O poet of the impetuous delirium fragmented laughter lingering with its liberating language O poet of the visionary voluminous memory of hands O poet of an extraordinary despair that rip and strip us bare be ancient in your age of wisdom be one born to do the common good O poet of the tolerant tonality tone poem of the tongues speak of the dead Gods gone that they live again say of them that all are my friends all belong to the firmly established family of man speak the stranded stainless heard of the essence of the euphuistic euphonic word speak in the irrepressible irregular talking tongues till all is won be an underground outcast heroic you victim of the social forces that live outside of you in the city there is a profound loss of identity that will alienate you maintain your deeply held self be not the helpless protagonist wandering in the dark conflict of the canyon you are the makers of art be not set apart from the message of your heroic heart know that man is a warping warring creature who find faults to wage war by at every tight turn of the hazy head and now I have reach the end I hope that in this day and age that you can comprehend I hope that I have made a song too sing that I have emergently entertained that your time have not been spent in vain the muses with their miraculous muscles have quit the game I no longer call upon their names my words are now scattered like fading shredded grass before the lawn mower’s dazzling requiem of noise in the drunkenness of a collapsed memory naked on the last cinder of a fading dream with its wondrous scenery of the intimate armor suited to the narrow morning breaking though the threshold of the monsoon’s blood that pours and run aground filling up the crevasse of what we dare not wish to know for a time all that is said is said to end with the word word
the end
