To Mother Kundalini

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International administrator, anaerobic meditation
the sperm of Vishnu, the Vajra,  Maha Raja,
wrought mother to all beings, Lord of Lords
sitting close to god the father, sons and holy ghosts.
Tennyson, Shelley, Keats, Milton and Blake 
leave me at the bottom of the well,
there's still more 
proof that poetry sutra and vedas can turn women into men physically and psychologically 

the restless have nothing to learn from history 
keep reading the strata has been set 
Luffy might be spry but could end up in Impel down 
study Dionysius, every King could turn street urchin, 
driven mad and like 
Chandra Gupta, you might starve to death
for the truth is a sword, you are mainly flesh

what continues the conversation after their remark
djinn controlled zombies not human beings 
To be deliberate indigent for truths sake 
if one gets any richer, might commit suicide 
make a run to mother Kundalini, asking her
Where am I?

turn a god into a woman, turns to 
offer protection and self caution to a scythe 
they are not the ones that helped me to this place
God Mother please never stop helping us
Witchcraft Christianity zombie caste system While -
we waste half our lives playing mind games 
and seeking petty justification
they intend to truamatize you into working 
like frustrating out a fuck
it'd doesn't matter where, the zombie is the same
open a business, read, self govern.
three come a time when a parent must know
if the child have sold out for greed and abide 

read,
without which you might not leave the spool
read, never leave your air balloon 
your have burlap sac of trauma to burst 
levels to break, more child like to be 
read, rise above cast system in the shop 
a wife takes business and governance from you

to turn us into the oversexed disregard of the self
the gazer doesn't see the work the mad etches he etches and time passes for both of them 
between the crazed spender or the mad rester
choose adult wisely only one of them gets to read
Man is a worm wearied with joy, remain gaunt
where first born son is sacrificial lamb
humanity is not money it is human beings
you stress, envy, die and you are back.
when older and the line sexual blur
focus on what you know- where 
people wake, dress up, out to be agents of the devil
with one's dignity bobbing up and down
keep doing your thing, stick to a routine,
in time, you realize there is no mall like the home
sold on a delusional of love in humanity
essence crazed, hurtled and feeling indestructible
a goad through and through 

be patient the devil riles reticence with impulse and compulsion 
ignorance is the enemy, hell is the cage of bitterness
you will hear the burden of that ignorance one way or the other lack of civility
money and mental lazinesss weariness implanted in the light spirit 
knowledge from india the eternal, the unchanging
in this sting of a life, 
if this is what money requires for sustenance
it's a theft of a lie and shouldn't be 
you are living in an apprehension
where suffering and prostitution is our lot
the igbos have been slaves for too long

civilization concrete yard and demonic 
my life is my tunnel 
man may leave his parents and join with 
a companion? is it still alive, human?
they in the know, are puppets of the know
To Mother Kundalini, vedas and poetry
without which Maha Raja is a mad ragga
I am grateful, but afraid of my grace
deification is devour, I am made of flesh
mother kill me in others eyes at a steady pace.

collecting back returning loaves of me
from the devil, reading poems and
remembering them back into me, in prison 
where the sell of one's soul was normal and institutionalized 
this is a battle of the aeons if you could remember your dreams
you have been on it just forgot constantly
thanks to circumcision the shroud was quotidian
thanks to poetry the unraveling will also be so
once you dream it it will happen
dream is destiny a hope of things to come 
watch out for the mainframe reset 
renounce the entire fabric for 
there's no way, no other way, and no way either.

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