No. 2. America is not a true democracy; and,
No. 3. The media is not fooling me.
’Cuz I am a poem heating hyper-distillation and I’ve got no room for a lie so verbose. Yes, I’m looking out over my whole human family and I’m raising my glass in a toast. Here’s to our last drink of fossil fuels. May we vow to get off of this sauce.
Shoo away the swarms of commuter planes, find that train ticket we lost. ’Cuz once upon a time, the line followed the river and peeked into all the backyards. And the laundry was waiving and the graffiti was teasing us from brick walls and bridges. We were rolling over ridges, thru valleys under stars. I dream of touring like Duke Ellington in my own railroad car.
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches in a Grand Station that blow with grace and then standing out on the platform and feeling the air, the air, the air on my face. Give back the night, it’s distant whistle. Give the darkness back its song. Give the big oil companies the finger finally and relearn how to rock and roll.
Yes, the lessons are all around us and the truth is waiting there. It’s time to pick thru the rubble, clean the streets and clear the air. Get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand of someone else’s desert. Put it back in his pants, put the hypocritical chance of “freedom forever...”
’Cuz when one lone phone rang in 2000 and 1 at ten after nine on 9-1-1, which was the number we all call when that old phone rang right off the wall, right off our desk, and down the long hall, down the long stairs in a building so tall that the whole world turned just to watch it fall.
And while we’re at it, remember the first time around? The bomb, the Ryder truck, the parking garage, the princess that didn’t even feel the pea? Remember joking around in our apartment on Avenue D, “Can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design following a fantastical reversal of the New York skyline?” It was a joke, at the time.
And that was just a few years ago, so, let the record show that the FBI was all over that case, that the plot was obvious and in everybody’s face, and that scoping that scene religiously, the CIA – or is it KGB – committing countless crimes against humanity, with this kind of eventuality as its excuse for abuse after expensive abuse… and they didn’t have a clue?
Look, another window to see thru, way up here on the 104th floor. Look – another key, another door. Ten percent literal, 90% metaphor. Three thousand some poems disguised as people on an almost too perfect day. They must be more than poems in some a**hole’s passion play.
So now it’s your job, and it’s my job to make it that way, to make sure they didn’t die in vain.
Shh, Baby, listen. Hear the train?
****
Silence is betrayal
By Martin Luther King, Jr.
What I will be discussing today is one of the most controversial issues confronting our nation. I’m using as a subject from which to preach why I am opposed to the war in Viet Nam. I would make it clear in the beginning that I see this war as an unjust, evil and futile war. I preach to you today on the war in Viet Nam because my conscience leaves me with no other choice.
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