Drop Out

The nefarious you, the ogred they:
Quarantine that vile mechanical creation,
Isolate it unto silence and coarse mud -
Away from my sullied soul.

Your unadorned cubicle, their musty cell,

This is not my home,
this is not my desire.
It is not my noetic clochan of meditation and salvation.

I have left the vulgar race behind,
Jumped off the unsteady ladder,
Bailed from this careening bus.

I don’t want your life,

Your expectations,
Your thumbs.

 

I‘ve chased money and it gets further,

I’ve chased success and it drops behind the racing horizon.

I’ve never walked toward joy purely.

 

So now I’m dropping out.

I‘ve had it with your denigrations,

With the flesh failures.

 

I shall be seen moving on the streets

And in the communities,

But I am gone.  

Seen, yet removed.

Industrious, yet returned to high purpose.

 

Raised to the intended new life,

No longer begging to be the rich man.

Appearing sick to festered eyes,

But reclaiming the agricultural spirituality.

 

Where do our expectations from from? With in? With out?

Who do they serve?

Should they remain?

They are found in the clay of creation.

And my freedom turns toward digging for truth.

 

There is recoverable freedom somewhere.  

It is the substance of being of human.  

And it can not be imparted from the inhuman.

My center, my joy, my heart’s true desire.