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
