Earth, The, Zeal

What does "Earth" mean?
Why the fascination with "The" or "Zeal?"
I'm here, in an awareness,
Around me is all i can image,
Within me is that imagination.

The etiquette of petitioning the totality of consciousness,
Politely, aware of my energy failings,
The body feels real tonight,
Real phony,
As I sigh in anticipation of entities,
Who I will fight,
Who affect me yet remain fictional
In the centric minds of my people.

"The incarnation is passing you by," he said.
Such little time,
Wonders not even mushrooms could reveal.

Evenings in Oxnard tract homes,
Weekend in L.A. and Marijuana,
The spring hasn't started, has it?
I want to know that things are,
Or that they aren't,
At least,
To know something,
To feel again,
Away from computer offices,
The money,
The dreams of machines,
The schemes of green profit,
Fat, dead men,
Their karmas,
Drive me to India and the Gita,
These currents pull me down.


It is so aggravating to sit in a shit sty,
Atop a toilet,
Taking a shit and knowing,
That on other planes of attention,
Krishna frolics through worlds and energies,
Whose echo's of could transform a yuppies life.
I mean, I am real.
Do I deserve this world?
Obviously it's in the cards,
Whose daughter did I fuck,
What wasted lives,
Have sucked me down to this?
Am I so special to bitch at the toliet,
Graced by the teachings of an Avatar,
Who comes by only once and while,
Glowing and speaking of other worlds.
Is he there to taunt me? To save me?
A taunting savior,
Maybe?

Regardless, this poem will end.
I will leave this terminal again,
Be faced with self.
Perhaps, I should go to the beach
And there,
Maybe look
Into the ecstasy of elsewhere.