Freedom From the Great Disease
Nobody knows what Socrates’ first
Word was, though,
If we can trust Plato,
His last one was Asclepius —
The prototype of Jesus, who
Was sitting on my kitchen floor
Last night in the blue light
That shines in from the air shaft
Stroking the cat
Before I could scream I was tranquilized
His eyes, his stare
He’s sitting there
And says: I know you need to liquefy —
His words, not mine — so, go
And when you return I’ll apprise you
Of why I surprised you
Oh Jesus, I said, after washing my hands
And he made his demands
OK, I will do as you say, so
He wants us to know
All the people of the globe, first
That there’s a creature — the kangabat
A bat got it on, in a zoo,
With a female kangaroo
And now guess who is bounding into flight
Flapping and gliding through town
All night on her dragon-like wings
Eating rats and things like that
The kangabat, he said
As he leaned against the fridge,
Is especially fond of the Brooklyn Bridge
But don’t go make a pilgrimage
Don’t freak out.
The second thing is this:
An intercontinental community
College system must be developed
All will be students of the great mystery
The one absolute, the teachers too
And will live, for free, in student housing
And grow our own food
Not for exchange value, but for use
Because, as Marx maintained,
Freedom from the great disease
Requires not the state, you see,
But the commune
I’m not quite sure how the kangabat
Fits into all that
But he implied that he’d be back
To talk some more
About the absolute
The foundation of doubt
That leads to the truth
