Smithfield Market, early in the day the crowd parts around him and the people fall away mothers cover childs' ears for fear of what he'll say He says: "I'm naked because we all are and God sees through this mess. Your identity's a farce before birth and after death you're not a banker or a lawyer or a well-to-do man You're just another beggar with outstretched hands and you could fill them up with beauty you could fill them up with joy you could fill them up when times are rough with the glory of the Lord." "But you wrap yourselves in linens and you wrap yourselves in silks and you wrap yourselves in blood and hell and guilt." ______________________ And he didn't choose to come here. If he made a choice at all, it was to listen, and when he heard it, heed the call. And he's been given legs to stand on He's been given hearts to open He's been given gifts and burdens plenty, knowing that he's broken. So let him be naked. Don't avert your eyes. Take it as a sign that it's time to drop disguises. Stop hiding behind silence. Stop hiding behind noise. Stop hiding your own violence. Stop hiding from that still, small voice.

And for a moment there I was ground down I had my chin on my chest, infested surround sound. But I took a breath. I took a moment. No, the rest of this poem's dedicated to our closeness. The remainder of my fame is aimed at saving all the hopeless. I'm committed to this human face and focused. So now I'm lifted up and now I'm lifting others with me. When my silence is serenity's a sign I'm living simply and I'm simply living in this complex world that we've been given. And I salute the Amish and all the other life affirming products of considering our tolerance for process. It's like a long conversation in which everyone's involved, like a deep breath before you make that phone call. It's like a solemn, sullen song that's been written and exists solely so some lungs can laugh, only after, in sadness, they've sung along. So let's make a contract now: a contractual agreement that we'll only be what we really are. And if you're scarred, then let me see your scars. If you're lonely I get lonely too and I'm here to rest with you. Or to wrestle you. If you need a vessel for the truth, I'll be a son of a bitch or the father of our youth but I'd rather just rest Let's get arrested. Only time can test all this time that we've invested. If our settlement gets better in these seven solemn days I'll be a weatherman predicting all this rain on faith that intuition is correct or I'm supposed to be wrong like writing a song when the notes have a will of their own or herding cats into a barn when they haven't heard reports that there's a storm on. And now I'm lifted up and now I'm lifting others with me. When my silence is serenity's a sign I'm living simply and I'm simply living in this complex world that we've been given. And I salute the Amish and all the other life affirming products of considering our tolerance for process. It's like a long conversation in which everyone's involved, like a deep breath before you make that phone call. It's like a solemn, sullen song that's been written and exists solely so some lungs can laugh, only after, in sadness, they've sung along. I'm saying maybe our sadness is a natural reaction to the sad state of living that's been so in fashion. This is babylon and this is heaven on Earth and since the day of my birth every breath has been work and it's worth it. A solemn, sullen song is just the surface. It's a tool to be used for a purpose. Celebrating life, celebrating yearning, celebrating sadness and our infinite capacity for learning how to be sad and joyful in the midst of all this mess... learning how to love life in our faithlessness. Learning how to love, especially ourselves. Forgiveness is a practice that's essential to my health forgiveness is the difference between heaven and hell that's not some afterlife shit, I'm talking now. Sometimes I distance myself because we're not living deeply but there's nothing more shallow than alone. And that's the burden of vision it's this gift I've been given and it can help or it can hurt the world I know. And now this pit that I've lived in self-indulgent and rigid looked a whole lot different from below. And now my life on the surface is authentic, it's purpose is to be who I'm here to be and grow. So now I'm lifted up and now I'm lifting others with me. When my silence is serenity's a sign I'm living simply and I'm simply living in this complex world that we've been given. And I salute the Amish and all the other life affirming products of considering our tolerance for process. It's like a long conversation in which everyone's involved, like a deep breath before you make that phone call. It's like a solemn, sullen song that's been written and exists solely so some lungs can laugh, only after, in sadness, they've sung along.

He's in love with the sound of the rain. Refrain. Every time around is a little more pain. Every time around is a bit less change. Every time that the sound of the speech is the same, he's to blame. He's to blame for everything that once was but now isn't. He's convicted of his own cynicism and he lives indifference because it feels like home. He wasn't built for the road but he studied it, so now he listens to the rhythm of the television in an inner city kitchen in a little Christian mission, saving souls like his own. Because he knows the hunger and he knows the fire and he knows how it feels to reject desire and if he had another life to live shit, he'd want to live it but he'd probably find a dead child or saint to give it to. He'd give it to you if you knew him. You're part of what he loves. The Spirit speaks through him and he looks up. Because he worships the infinite. That means everything. He doesn't even hate his own hate. And as the television blares out its lies, he smiles and puts some food upon your plate. Some would call him a saint but that makes him uncomfortable... not to say he's to attached to his comfort. He's loving it. Whatever "it" might be. He's not ashamed to say that he's a subject. Instant gratification gets put off for long walks and talks with God. He doesn't pretend to know why there's so much suffering. He just serves the food and goes home and sobs. ------------------- And when he's done crying, the anger stops. There's a blurry world through his own tears. And in that blurry world, combining everything, no lies or distinctions interfere. And he sees it then: the beauty in the symphony. Even in our anger and our fear, we're so beautiful. This life is so beautiful. The truth is here and it's clear. And he's not blind. His eyes are open. He can see all the things that we call "bad". But it's redefined and at times its spoken. He can see and he's free to be sad.

The scene is calm. The pastor speaks. The people sit in their seats. The aisles are long. The church is dark. It's nearly impossible to find your spark. A woman coughs a baby cries. The echo is infinite You close your eyes. The air is musty it smells like dust. You're wondering why You keep coming back. I mean, you could be working or flat on your back, enjoying the gifts of the creation. But a matter of law is a matter of fact. You pay a tithe to the church. You pay more than a tax. You pay in spirit. Your children are hungry. The preacher spouts threats about going to hell and paying your debts and you believe him because he wears that hat. Then... In strolls George Fox, looking like he knows something, speaking in verse as if the words weren't rehearsed. He makes people panic and they turn away, afraid; immediately apprehensive until they heard him say, "Yo, pastor, this pulpit is sacred but so is the shop where I bought my shoes and these people are sacred as they're sitting in their pews they don't know God's love any less than you." And sometimes, when the man is through with his verse the people rise up and follow him out of the church but most times he just gets himself arrested. He says "powers are vested in only the few but God vested his power into you." It's like this mister Quaker in your broad brim hat. You don't doff that hat for nobody. And if you did doff it, often its a solemn little following of Christ or the Inner Light. Whatever you can call it. In a prison in Exeter a prisoner got a letter. He sits in the corner unspoken. They said he healed people. Yhey said he might be Christ with the letter next to him unopened. He had written hundreds of pamphlets to the enemies of Friends. God was sending him to listen to the answers, but one fanciful question that he had to entertain, in the same way as he prayed to understand it. James Naylor hadn't slept for days. He might have missed the gameplan in the following ways but it also might be true that he was faithful. He keeps saying the saviors don't favor the few and that Christ speaks through me too. It's like this mister Quaker in your broad brim hat. You don't doff that hat for nobody. And if you did doff it often its a solemn little following of Christ or the Inner Light. Whatever you can call it. And is he simple? Hell yes that man is simple, with his simple dress his simple speech a simple smile upon his dimple. When he walks down the street that street is his temple cause when you got the right sentiment every place is sentimental. And when he sees a noble man he doesn't call him "you" because he's talking to one person not to two. Because he's kind of a leveller and he's kind of a ranter and he's standing with a lantern trying to show you the light, cause when the Spirit's on fire it can burn so bright. It's like this mister Quaker in your broad brim hat. You don't doff that hat for nobody and if you did doff it often its a solemn little following of Christ or the Inner Light. Whatever you can call it. Okay, so to Mr. George Fox, Don't doff your hat. And to James Nayler, Don't doff your hat. And out to Margaret Fell, Don't doff your hat. And to Solomon Eccles, Don't doff your hat. Isaac Penington... Don't doff your hat. And to John Woolman, Don't doff your hat. I said Lucretia Mott, Don't doff your hat. And out to William Penn, Don't doff your hat.

I once had a job but I lost it in high school. Whenever I fooled myself into thinking that I needed their help I was their fool, but now I'm my fool. And now I sign pools of rhymes into time cycles. I align myself with this bed of nails that's been recycled until I'm finally alive and dying at the same time. And when I sigh then I'm sighing for peace, and when I die then I'll rest there. Where I get my breath there's a source of oxygen, a solidness imbued with phosphorous, and a solemn intolerance for anything but love, and it's rooted in love. It's rooted in beauty. It's rooted in a sense of simpleness and ambiguity. And so I'll focus on discernment and breathing. We've all earned a learner's permit. Permit yourself to grieving, and be freeing, and to teething when you're teething, and see peace in believing bereavement's bereft brethren's seven settlement's indebtedness to the betterment of love and to the practice of love, and to the sadness that comes with the lack thereof. I won't speak to the world when the world isn't listening deeply. That's why I waited this long to release this song of songs, songs of Solomon enthroned with the wood of Lebanon, songs entombed in the womb until I felt that there's room to stop absconding with my pregnancy, And now Ba'alhamon is expecting me, expectantly. And I'm incessantly setting precedence in the presence of the president who presides presently over the peasantry. I'll set aside a suit of simple symmetry. Synthetically, I synthesize the story of what's natural. It's a glass half full of embattled saturn plasma. It's a boy, no it's a girl. It's a toy, no it's the world's surface enduring certain circumstantial services... super solemn. superficial. super sacrificial splurges in our endless bags of purchases. The sermon at your service spoke to sympathetic tourniquets in need of seeking reassurance for the next effeminate person to pool a possible burden. I speak urgently because it's urgent. This emergency's emergent, and I'm a fuckin' word surgeon, serving solace from my person, signs of solidness ensuring that I'm a growing and a maturing little butterfly. I. Can. Fly. Signed, my guardian angel, staying sane at the same table as the stablest savior saves all the other saviors, bringing peace to your neighbors through osmosis. The closest soldier knows this war is hopeless. He knows that we're impoverished by the fists we've thrown, so now our foes can go home, and we can plow the ground with swords we've melted down and use them to harvest all these seeds we've sewn. So now we're saying prayers of gratefulness like grace is all we've known. We're singing songs of freedom like they're songs we've always sung. We're swinging scythes like pendulums, connecting one and one and one. We're sweetly leaking Jesus juice like Abraham's last son. Tell Isaac that his time has finally... come. And now I'm looking at the moon like I'm the sun, and she's reflecting passion back to me, the energy to run, and I don't care that it's night time. I don't care that day is done. I don't care that all the owls stare and judge me like I'm dumb, because I'm not dumb. I know enough to know that I don't know. My wisdom is sufficient to be quiet and to listen, because in the basic-est of instances our languages are different and the isolated brain is intrinsically indifferent so I'm going to be a body and I'm beating like a heart, and I'm hoping that you'll be the blood to travel with this art, because the muscles might be tired. They might be atrophied. They might be looking to caffeine for energy they need. But come on, let's get together. Someone be the lungs. Someone be the need to breathe, and someone be the tongue. Someone be the eyes and ears, and someone be the hands Someone who can persevere, the feet on which we stand and you're the rock, body. No one's gifts left useless. The Universe needs you to do the best that you can do with just what you've been given, with everything you've got. Your finite contribution fills a hole that mine does not. And together we can stand. Together we can run. Together we collect our calories straight from the sun. Together we envision all our lives combined as one, and together we compose this bloody, bleeding, beating drum.

So now I'll pick myself up, and dust myself off, and write a little love song about myself. I'm still amazing. Just this existence is crazy, how I built my self with my mother's help and then emerged to learn the world that I'm going to serve is in tatters, shattered pieces on the ground is what I found. So now I'm not feeling lazy and I'm not afraid. I'm feeling brave. Everyone around me's in pain and I can listen to it. I can even love them through it. Like: not take it on just take it in and stand for it. Inhale exhaust and transform it into something that's advertent, emergent and infallible like love. This healing that I'm feeling is a real thing, not a symbol, something you can touch. So now I'll pick myself up, and dust myself off, and write a little love song about myself. I'm still amazing. Just this existence is crazy, how I built my self with my mother's help and then emerged to learn the world that I'm going to serve is in tatters, shattered pieces on the ground is what I found. So now I'm beautiful. That's not a guilty admission, it's just a fact. As badly as I've been treated, I'm resolved to not lose that. And if that means feeling anger, if it means not feeling love, in a manner of speaking a man or a woman sometimes has got to stand up and that's beautiful. Our oppressors are human. They've got their own painful reasons for the pain they inflict. But forgiveness isn't trust. Our anger is natural. Sometimes it's myself that I've got to forgive. So now I'll pick myself up, and dust myself off, and write a little love song about myself. I'm still amazing. Just this existence is crazy, how I built my self with my mother's help and then emerged to learn the world that I'm going to serve is in tatters, shattered pieces on the ground is what I found.

Adam wasn't full of knowledge, Adam was ashamed. Adam only knew about that one mistake he made, and the worst mistake ever was to give these leaves to us. I mean, our own doubts and fears would be perfectly enough, but no. We've got to hide them and ignore what's at the roots. We're told to love our fig leaves more than we love the truth. But I'm here to tell you Adam, I'm shedding all your shame. I'm throwing off this clothing and I'm dancing in the rain. I've got a lot to lose by speaking truth but even more to gain. So let's get naked. Let your shame fall away like shedding blankets. Let your fear and your identity hang around your ankles, then let's run around, show the world the stuff we've found, the beauty we've kept hidden underneath these pounds and pounds of extra clothing. I'm shedding my self-loathing and replacing it with trust. I'm only here to love. I'm through with thinking anyone's the judge. And when we disrobe, we let the light shine in. We strip off the stuff that was left from the lining. I'm not signing autographs 'cause I don't even have a name. I left it at the party in a pile with all my pain. And I'm trained to cover up. I'm trained to hide my shame. I'm trained in the fine art of trying to stay sane. In a world where judgment's passed, where people are condemned, we cover up our flaws long before we work on them. But I'm loving all my blemishes with sentimental tenderness. I'm writing down these sentences defenseless. And let's get naked. Let your shame fall away like shedding blankets. Let your fear and your identity hang around your ankles, then let's run around, show the world the stuff we've found, the beauty we've kept hidden underneath these pounds and pounds of extra clothing. I'm shedding my self-loathing and replacing it with trust. I'm only here to love. I'm through with thinking anyone's the judge.

And when I do get dressed, I want to think for a second. Dress up for church and dress down for the fellowship? No. If its all God's Earth, there's no place for irreverence. Everything I do is prayer. From cleaning my ears to not combing my hair, It's all love for this life that we've been given. It's not just above us, it's around us and it's living, One way that I show that I'm grateful is my linens. So I'm going to sport some duds that don't cause war to my brothers, clothe myself in the wastefulness of others. Now I'm digging in dumpsters, singing out a song of solidarity with lovers, pay respect to our mothers, like: Like, clothe yourself in righteousness, you don't need that business suit. You don't need that law degree to be free or to speak the truth. I said, clothe yourself in righteousness, you don't need expensive boots. You don't need a degree from seminary to know that God loves you. And when I wear plainclothes, my intentions are simple. My soul is on my sleeve for you to see. And if I have to march through the streets like Solomon Eccles, you'll know that God decided to make a sign out of me. And that's my public witness. That's my citizen's oath. That's my challenge to you, to get naked and grow. It's not our job to judge the seeds we see being sown when we're faithful to our inner guide, our inner light's shown and that might look like darkness. That might feel like fear. That might send people running. It might make things clear. It might leave you naked, stripped and forsaken with a hole through your tongue and a "B" like James Naylor, You were built for a purpose. You were built to know love. You were built to be perfectly flawed and grown up. And when we're called to a witness, we know we'll be equipped with the tools and the power we need to get it done. So clothe yourself in righteousness, you don't need that business suit. You don't need that PH.d to be free or to speak the truth. I said clothe yourself in righteousness, you don't need expensive boots. You don't need a degree from seminary to know that God loves you. And when I do get dressed, I want to think for a second. Dress up for church and dress down for the fellowship? If its all God's Earth, I'm getting dressed for benevolence. If every place is sacred then I'm a resident. My plain dress addresses my respect like my reticence. My plain dress: designed as a sign of my settled-ness with everything, everyone, every situation. Yo it's all sacred. I dress to show that I'm grateful. A simple sign of faith, a simple song of Solomon, a simple kind of way that I walk through this unpromised land. Dress up when I'm with peasantry, dress up to be noble, dress the same that I did yesterday as when the world is over. I'll dress up for a wedding, dress the same the day after, dress up for celebration and dress up for a disaster. I'll dress like I'm settled. I'll dress like it matters. I'm dressed for the here, I'll dress the same for the hereafter. So clothe yourself in righteousness, you don't need that business suit. You don't need that law degree to be free or to speak the truth. I said clothe yourself in righteousness, you don't need expensive boots. You don't need a degree from seminary to know that God loves you.

Living in the wilderness is wild, and I lost it as a child with my father and the long december, and i've got reason to believe in belief, like having faith in reason or a seasonal grievance that encapsulates my grief. I'll be brief but my words probably won't. I wrote them when the air was clear and fair and full of hope and I've been living in between defeat and growth, with faith my locomotive, Quakerism hitches, and a whole lot of baggage cars to tote. And it's been a long time since childhood. I spun around five times to get lost in the woods and now I spin ten. Now I know where I've been. It doesn't matter where I'm going, all that matters is the way that I walk. I'm not soft spoken but I'm gentle when I talk, 'cause I know we're all broken. We're all in pain. I'm witness to the suffering in front of my face. The symptoms can diminish when i give them a name. I call it "pain”. But this is what we're born into, so this is what we'll love. We'll love it with our eyes open, knowing that it's rough. We'll love it full of hope, knowing loving's not enough, it's just a plausible way to stay focused. And for your hopelessness, I prescribe love, as the first motion. We're sowing seeds into this ocean, planting trees and then hoping that their leaves will open and they'll bear fruit like I'm bearing now. My elders can look upon this song and smile. I can't live without my breath. The second best is when i give into the settlement. I'm sediment's guest. The reason that I've let myself be delicate is that I've listened for what's needed and become, as best as I can, a man in this culture. Instead of a dance, I'm the band and an adult. Young, and with unsung songs slung over my shoulder. Simple and solemn, sometimes sad before I'm over all the guilt and the pain that this living life can give us. Before I was born, I was addressed to be delivered to a midwife in crisis down in Richmond, Virginia. I can still feel the power of that room, the comfort of the womb, the realization that I wasn't facing all this pain and all this loneliness alone. And still I can call up my mother on the phone. Listen for the dial tone. Listen, Mom, my teenage years were hard and I'm sorry. I hope that I didn't leave you too scarred, but I know that you were ready. Giving life leaves marks, when you brought me into your arms out of the darkness. It took me fifteen years to really open my eyes and then ten more to get over all the surprises, and in ten more years I'll be taking care of you and I'm ready. Anything you need me to do, I'm there. I see pictures with your long straight hair when you were younger than me and I'm glad that you were happy. I'm glad that you had me. I'm satisfied with the present and with everything that's passed me. And as we move into this sad universe I keep remembering you and our connection since birth. I keep remembering what our connection is worth. I keep remembering. And to all my elders, reaping the harvest: Max Carter Scott Pierce-Coleman Niyonu Spann Walter Hjelt-Sullivan Deborah Shaw Frank Massey Mr. Tom Fox Michelle Levasser Jackie Stillwell Frederick Martin Sheila Garrett Robyn Josephs Bob Butera Tema Okun The Esser-Haines that's West Philly, Y'all My mother Peggy O'Neill My father Al Watts My brother Coleman Watts The community that raised me The people who made me to do what I'm here to do even though it seems crazy

**LYRICS** And now you're lost in this awesome. Son of a gun, lost 'em. It's often the cause of my problems. When I'm alone in Boston, it's back to the softened offense and that solemn intolerance for anything but awesome. Awe that I stand in. All of my fans randomly left red handed and they caravanned tandem through the tanned red planets that supported life evenly and, seemingly releasing me, conveniently, they banned it. And I sanded down the sands of time like granite till they dropped through this hourglass of mine, like, "damnit." Quickly. Like time was my enemy. And rhymes had befriended me. And I've seen minutes that I could stand on. Friends that couldn't go home. A brother that knows me. A life of my own. Limits and emotions. Penitence for old poems. The denigration of this bold, strong platform I've been placed on. Saving grace. Loving arms. Harms way. Movement. Little children. Places to stay. Lover's arms. Two shits. And now I'm solidly committed to living, sending out flowers from all of these towers I've been in. Depending on what will come, this is lifetime music. I'm giving it up for lent before I lose it. And when my time comes to live, I'll take the time to do it. Time is just a tunnel, there's a fine line through it. In a sense, innocence sends friends into friendliness. If time is the enemy then I'm the revolution. And I will be televised far into the future in the format that follows after YouTube. We can assume two truths that always follow after youth. One isn't knowledge and the other isn't true. Following birth, actively bath born babies find the surest way to die. I call myself "I". I only just recently learned to tie a tie and I exclusively do it with someone standing right behind I feel like my feelings have a fine felt fiber that have woven together and been melded by this fire, so if you cause me to feel, you can expect me to pause. I've got to travel, unravel back to the cause. It goes: Only loss is an inevitable cause. Gain doesn't strain the same muscles. Struggle maintains the veins main claim to the brain. The spinal chord attaches where they left off. In a blog I lifted up my brothers in arms and then their legs caved right at the ankles. Now I take the same fire power training lanes that I've gained and list them on my resume as ancient. Listen up: Lives haven't lost living given that they're ending. My solitude's sweet beat seeps out from beginnings like a street sweep might enjoy a chimney. Like a free week benefits from ending. That'll take defending. Listen: leverage everything you've heard. More than just the words. Find a way to benefit from all that's been inferred. All that has occurred has evolved into sure bets placed under duress, leading us to lively little games of insurance. And if the Earth can endure this, I'm sure that it's worth it. Shout out loud that its the birth of our purpose. (shout out loud that that's the birth of our purpose) (again) Only loss is an inevitable cause. Gain doesn't strain the same muscles. Struggle maintains the veins' main claim to the brain. The spinal chord attaches where they left off. In a blog I lifted up my brothers in arms and then their legs caved right at the ankles. Now I take the same fire power training lanes that I've gained and list them on my resume as ancient. Listen up: Lives haven't lost living given that they're ending. My solitude's sweet beat seeps out from beginnings like a street sweep might enjoy a chimney. Like a free week benefits from ending. That'll take defending. Listen, leverage everything you've heard. More than just the words. Find a way to benefit from all that's been inferred. All that has occurred has evolved into sure bets placed under duress, leading us to lively little games of insurance. And if the Earth can endure this, I'm sure that its worth it. Shout out loud that its the birth of our purpose. (shout out loud that that's the birth of our purpose)