just visiting the now

the collective is for harvest.

whatever the graveness of their mindset,

the bloom of their intentions,

is the fruit of their earnestness.

capitalism has a hankering,

a way of seething into action,

a hidden directive at first glance.

capitalism says,

you give me numbers,

I'll give you potential profits.

I can make a conveyer belt 

out of any groups intentional social claims.

I'm always holding more aces

than they are holding face cards.

joyous servitude is a society of worth.

as the profit once said,

it's a boardwalk mindset gone on to living.

it's a lockdown of choices

in a comparative truth kind of a way.

even thinking outside the box

has its own separate containment.

anything more radical

is beyond one's ability to contemplate.

there is lock-step insistence to viewing life.

sound of mind has become 

the offspring of rationalization.

one might as well tax language 

for its service usage.

the surface of the current human pond

is covered in mentalized conclusions as litter.

yes, emotions still swim deep and within,

as sunlight searching for soul,

current for aliveness,

clarity of self in circumstance,

all cluttered at the very top.

we may need a dam break,

a version of swim free,

without the confidence of management's oversee.

the architects of fear have remade the landscape.

we are becoming sensory endowed 

with thought-banks of apprehension.

life is becoming living 

between darks clouds passing.

the sky is secretly becoming 

a myopia of surveillance.

the more we know

is becoming the study 

of how we know,

for profit 

as the new financial enterprise.

the beauty of all of this,

is like a caterpillar filling up into its cocoon.

when enough is too much,

the chrysalis will burst

and new beings will emerge.

for those that out-fell 

beyond previous thinking's enterprise,

those that reshape and re-tone the spoken word,

those that redesign how spoken occurs

and what is the nature of topic addressed,

where the value of self is not in self-depictional,

where meaning has an emotional depth of field,

where the collective is the syntax beyond said-ness,

where wholism is planetary concepts in the making,

where profit is but a cuticle's growth

on the hands of touch, hold and embrace.

we are the source of the annuals 

but more deeply we are the roots of being,

that speak to each other in that collective,

before earth evident in for harvest to mean.

oneness lives in the beneath, the behind,

and the beyond.

only sending almost illegible postcards to the now

to remind each one of us.

we will all be home

when this chaos has been rendered as passage. 

we are soul worthy 

of quest and enlightened pursuit . . .