Out of the blue sky, out of the waters, out of the woods, of the deer, the beaver the bush the bird flies, out of my people the blood, out of so many moons in this place a man cannot count them, out of grace with the Great Spirit who gave us this land, you seek to push us. (At night, in my dreams, already I smell you, I smell your railroads, your sawmills, my mother's hair burning in the forest, I smell these things in my dreams, I see that Chrysler plant you intend over the graves of my people. You cannot fooi me ! I am the land you seek, I am the supple bowing of the branches, I am the leaves, ■ waving a warning to my young men, I have the strength of all the roots in the forest under me, the fox and the bear and the hawk and the badger have given me their skills, all things and creatures in the forest have given me what is theirs tor I have given them my spirit, I have, since the Great Spirit first placed us here, I have trod with respect and care over my mother's flesh, over this land. All this! All this! All thist you will have to push out, you white men, you weak palé -faced rum drinking cowards, you who have not been able to manage your own aLfairs in your own land, you who come now to desecrate mine. Ahhh, this is your last chance, you bastarás, get the fuck out NOW, or forever be food Lor the wrath of the forest people. (I know, in my dreams, I know your perverse power, yoT suns and your driven multitudes of paid and punished warriors, and I know, in my dreams, against you my branches may break, my leaves may be burned, my fur singed and bleeding in the bitter cold of your ways, and my heart bleeds, my roots squirm and heave with these apprehensions, but I hear, in my dreams I hear over the clamor of your Fords, over the cries of your powdery women in your department stores, over the shriek of the mutilated forest itself, I hear another tongue, my tongue in another's mouth, in my dreams I hear the triumph of my forest speech in another time, and it says, it screams with a vengeance UP AGAINST THE WALL MOTHERFUCKERS! Oave Sinclair 1968, in Detroit, land of the Ottawa s and Wyandots from Language The metallurgical analysis oí the stone that was my heart shows an alarming percentage of silicon. Silicon, as George would be the first to teil you, is not a metal. It is present in glass, glue and since glue is made from -living substance. I love you. But as the iron clangs, the glass, the glue, the living substance (which, God knows, has been to as many glue factories as it can remember) muffles what the rest of the heart says. I see you cowering in the corner and the metal in my heart bangs. Too personal The glass and glue in my heart reply. And they are living substance. You cannot bake glass in a pie or fry glue in an omelette "If I speak in the tongue of men and angels. . " The sounding brass of my heart says "Love." Jack Spicer THE SONG OF THE GREAT REVOLUTION O IT MUST BE SUNG FROM MYRIAD MOUTHS UNTIL THE EARS OF THE DEAF ARE FORCED OPEN AND THE EYES OF THE BLIND AGAIN PERFORM MIRACLES Money. Is of no valué. The Super -Market could send home l2 of their employees, just put food on their shelvs the shoppers come & take them home. no need Lor checkers. everybody should just do everything. no such artificial distinctions between "work" and "recreation". week & week end. We can see through their cellophane bag. they tried to break the world open into lids. we said: no baby, break open the whole key. WHEN you walking 'round out there sure as i know some men die on crosses come clean, come if you can clean i do know what it means it means walking 'lound out there under sun or weather there you are, change, if you can, you must i'U direct (otherwise) rays at you, my will at you it is that simple you simply have to change your life you have to see beauty of blood clothing you moving with the planetary beat insisting, the tune the beat that all if it would be true moves to some loved one then the next making the time hearing the earth shifts there is, you could we would all live in a song of our making.