It’s All Gravy Baby

A Poem On The Spiritual Experience

J. Marshall

Hell is breaking out left and right in a world that should’ve collapsed twenty times over by now

Misery is the word of the day,

If you’re not miserable you’re not an American

Notice the fire, notice the pain, notice the frustration, notice the helplessness

As an American you must notice it all in order to remain true to the tradition of misery, hating the status-quo, and the same ‘ole, same ‘ole

As a human being in contemporary America you must allow a fluid flow of ceaseless, media-generated imagery to drill itself into your psyche like a steel-tipped jackhammer cracking concrete, you must, you must, you must succumb to the chaos and sense that shit ain’t going to change

A wider view

One that sees beauty in all, whether light or dark, violent or peaceful,

But you can do no such thing, these type of stark polarities cannot be equated

Inner peace among it all when the prevailing truth is ‘to be aware is to be pissed off all the time’ sounds like utter nonsense to the ones on the outside, the ones oblivious of the potential impact on the psyche of a human being in closed quarters, sequestered from the masses, who deconstructs all the ill, toxic, detrimental, hardened layers of countless negative memories amassed like leaves peeled from a head of lettuce

Bliss minute-to-minute among chaos is as foreign an idea as fourth-dimensional beings plodding through a snowy Central Park with bright golden spears during Christmas time

Happiness in cold weather or a cold world feels as strange as gummy bears falling out when you peel a banana

Day to day, seeing the fire, seeing the pain, as happy as can be, knowing nothing but oneness and bliss, and wanting nothing but to love and for others to feel your love sounds certifiably insane

But…if at least one individual can have this than, at least for them, it’s still,

All Gravy Baby