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rf jordan Apr 2016
calling IV

calling all truck drivers
calling all car dealers
            all scuba divers
            all potato peelers
            all mothers
            all sons
            all brothers
calling all who’ve won
            all losers, users, and just
            all perusers of rusty lust
calling all criminals
            all those who’ve tussled and cussed

calling all mechanics
and all whom, in them, trust
calling all politicians
for i must

beg of ye to see this infinity in we

calling all ministers of high finance
            all fragile tendencies toward your dance
            with your blossoming children
            and their salty breezes
            their blown into kerchiefs
            and their seizing sneezes
            seeing you as you carry them toward
            our unifying dust
            i hold no ill will toward that soil you till
            i’ve passed around your notes, your bonds,
            and your bills
            i’d thought i’d be one of you ‘til i met a few untils
            love your children, and love yourself,
            for they shall carry your ashes
            into a box upon a shelf
            that dust behind all wealth

calling all foxes, dogs, cats, chickens, and beetles
            all sages, rosemary, spikes, and needles
            all wages, incendiaries, wallops, and weebles
            all pages, all poets
            all police, all panthers
            all those battling fires
            without and within
            all those atop towers
            all whom are twins
calling all wheels
                  upon all surfaces
                  all of those mired
                  in a sense of worthlessness
calling all kings
calling all nations
calling all jordan’s, americas, and native stations
                  we’re writing too much blood
                  into not enough ground
                  we’ve survived our flood
                  and are forever bound

calling brother abel and brother cain
            father abraham and mother pain
            you’ve traumatized me
            from all this blood you’ve lain
            i see peace in all your eyes
            blown to pieces in terrorizing replies

calling all consumers, producers, unionizers, and managers
                  corporations, and not for profit planners
                  all doctors, nurses, clients, and programmers
                  advertisers, marketers, bloggers, and spammers
                  all engineers of damns, bridges, and destructions
                  those who fell they’re ****** due to their suctions
                  i’ve sensed a fragile beauty in your moistened orbs
                  you all carry
                  i beg of you all to come from love
                  lay down your swords
                  i beg you not tarry
                  come women laying into asphalt
                  come scientists predicting san andreas’ fault
                  come widows, charlatans, and poets of trite
                                                                 all ye poets weeping into ye hands
                                                                 all ye poets of darkness and light
                                                                 perfect light and darkness are myths upon this earth
                                                                 just as perfect black and white
                                                                 are myths spun from history’s dearth
Niesha Radovanic Aug 2017
water swirls in the bottom of my belly. my words grow legs and dance on my tongue and begin spilling out of my mouth only leaving an echo because you didn't respond. i let you take pieces of me i didnt know i had.  i am a dice you role every morning on a game board. wether the number is 1,2,3,4,5,6 they all still stand for "hurt her". rip her heart out and throw it on the ground. pick it up. drop it again. kick it. and she'll pick it up the next morning. and ill hurt her again. ill hurt again. ill do it again. if you leave. hold me tight one more time. stamp your kisses on every inch of me. ill leave the music on to swallow the silence. ill leave the door open wide. just in case you come back. just in case i can't open the door again. my limbs are limp. my head is swarming with bumble bees. their buzz sounds just like your ring when you text me. i let the bees in because lets face it my heart still jumps out of its cage and walks around looking for you. i hear the creek on the 4th step of the staircase and my speakers blare "wait" by M83, praying you turn around. i begin to go places that remind me of you. this is the type of pain that feels nice. this is the type of pain that i'm already feeling and you haven't even left yet. you're my daily dose of psuedo happy pills. you're 4am thoughts that itch at my scalp, begging to be written down. i am kitchen utensils. used daily. but left in the sink until someone else comes to wash me off. until someone else comes to ask if i am okay. until i come and throw the dice away. ill still be a game you'll always want to play because you have me figured out. you know all the corners to cut. all the cards to take from the pile and hide until the very end. until then i'm just a list of untils. and that will be the end of me. until.
Tabitha Sullivan Oct 2014
I sit here with what's left of my life before me.
I sit here with the decisions that will change my life heavy in my heart.
I sit here wondering if you are wrong about me.
Puzzled by that notion I sit here some more.

Until I am **** sick of sitting here.
Until I am ready to capture my own dreams.
Until I come to the realization my life has been an awful awful life...
A little less than surprised I have found myself out of untils.

For all I have is this very moment.
For all I have is the rest of my life in front of me.

Now I know I have to think my own way and embark on my own adventure..

— The End —