Always explode out like a light
And cut out the false
The gossip, the habits of centuries
Direct the ascent with word
But first with deed
Learn to be wholehearted
Johnny will sag and sag
For the weakness of the ages lies with the easy
The easy with second hand
The second hand with out-of-touchness:
The feet broken, casted, and shriveled
Carried around, limp, here to there
The eyes watery, bagged, and dull
Careless billiard balls, homogenized sicknesses
Johnny is a dead end
Perhaps there is no way
But you shall not know coiled up
Sucking upon the second hand of centuries
The buildup of the easy
Honesty is to be your highest value
The sword of wholeheartedness
All of your being at hand
Into the tip of its blade
You do not know this
But your nature flourishes at this blade
Attack toward the source of your most basicness
That central thing you daydream of doing
Encountered again when hand to hand
The artist draws you out’
That you there under the fog
Toward that thing you were supposed to do
When time permitted
That thing you forgot
Yet it rushes to the surface
Fully enunciated, immaculate, daring
As you blink away the weariness
As you let your feet feel the wind or the water
Expecting easy flourishing
Is low vitality’s rut
Within those hazy doldrums
What we’ve come to call normal
Reality too far away to understand
Burdened, no breathing room
When you look out and cannot see
Here, you long for this and this alone
And long you will unequipped with a good mirror
