Outpost Poetry

Eight Bolts on Either Side

Downwind of Change,
right before the turn south, the lights out,
I made great effort.
I pulled out the hoe and planted the seed
and I grew the connection between us and them,
between Night and Day, escaping the pit.
Removing my dependency on the Iron Fist.
I drove out of town to distant places.
And I pulled the wrenches, breathing the carbon black,
the fine dust, the dirty air.
I watched television for a clear picture of Non-reality,
the Illusion broadcast.
The filters in place, quenching the thirst, drawing up the dead.

I saw the march towards us, our comforts, our needs,
long lines at gas pumps, the Great Demands taxing the core,
ripping away at shallow surfaces. Two inches thick, no more.
Face value erected like cardboard,
and the tide coming in,
the huge wave coming in sweeping up the mess.

I ran for cover, careful not to raise my head.
The boulders speeding across the horizon. The World in need.
And we prefer to stand alone taking what is not ours.
For we listen to the Owners, and bid their foul wishes well,
carrying out the conquest of resources.
The non-feeling. Drawing the lines. Dividing the meek.
Humanity cut in two.

I have heard enough. I am spent.
For the food is lifeless stuffed with the non-essential.
Everything dressed up to look good.
The head mounted on a stick, and Others pulling the strings,
doing things in the clear distance.
The hands disconnected from the head.
Store bought feelings, ready made, just sign the dotted line.
Safe in numbers like sheep.

Real ownership is breathing deeply,
making a Connection that centers up in Wholeness,
building bridges by dreaming the Dream of Dreams.
Making contact. Touching down to stand even up with Possibilities.
It is not what the eyes can see,
but what the hands can do in bridging the distance.
Moving like Up. Drawing upon Good Things.
Eating out of the back yard.
Free of chemicals, free of pesticides.
Embracing the diversity of many. Blending it as a movement on.
Beyond this life of flesh on bone.
Beyond the Known.
Like breathing a connection to the Endless.
A steady stream of Blessings. Moving like Up.
A perfect Wave, the Single Thread that prevails all relations.
Above It All, beyond conflict.
Breathing a connection
that every step may be made with Great Determination.
Focused.
The strength of hand in movement.
Building community. Planting the seeds.
Building this life into the next.

Joe Nelson Icet
August 22, 2003

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