a DAiLY MANTRA—

This body of mine is not like the ones we’ve made before
We have not always been this way with the vessel
walking across the land.
We have not surrendered all that ales our human form,
though we have purged much with abandon.
I have surrendered to not my own being,
but the being of Us— in space of humanity,
accepting the void of kindness and understanding—
knowing this as a shift in wisdom to better lead
myself and my people into the movements fought,
and lost, and victored;
trimming trees for generations to continue
to be unafraid to look, to see for those voiceless among us,
for the forthcoming knowledge to Keepers.
Surrender has given the gifts of discipline to ensure
the health of my mind and body to steady
the swell of struggles—
to touch fingers with revolution.
The peace discovered outside my home
nourishes the rebellion and resistance against
what furthers our sickness—
a disconnection from ourselves and our neighbors
inside and on these streets,
both equal criminals in Moloch.
i love a good drink and i am responsible for the good
left i find in this taking of communion 
with The People. 
i love meat and hone respect for the Earth and Animal 
passing life on to me—
we become singular in a force similar in the Mother,
Creator of Nature.
Within this flow of liberation, this body is forming
with a wild humility.
Mortality is a spec terraformed on the shoulder
of the god in Universe
Moving slower,
a part,
and independent,
i am becoming a face of freedom and love—
a tangible well of potable water—
i wish to feed the hungry minds starved by their holy shepherds
leading them to a cliff of brittle cathedral glass.
i move with us as a stalking fluidity
coming in the night infecting dreams
of another day.
i learned this body has always been something to be taken,
to be given, denied, sold for less than its budding worth
no matter the price— something to be owned.
i was never the maintenance man or the bottle boy,
i was never the porter or the LQ cowboy
medicating those at the counter with disease,
nor the painter scaling riverboats or night shifts laundry
receiving your thankless wishes at the front desk— 
yet i am everything of these trades— 
all of me but never complete.
These bodies are foreign, as they develop further
pushing away the system echoing from the depths 
of machinery within waning oppression.
In this rebellion,
we inherit the Earth without barrier
that we may witness as greater ancestors.
We find we are our own and in alignment with the people
of our village at its best center. 
In this body, i Warrior,
i carry something greater than myself,
harboring some star of lessons i will not know on this island, 
but yes, we will feel them shower after the fall 

This is My Body.