Buffalo Calling
by Eric Johnt
I am staring
@ all those books under read
all the newspapers unknown
THE PILES OF PAPERS GROWING
ink flowing circulating
blowing down Main Street southbound.
They musta jumped from my recycling bin
as I trotted past trying 2 catch the train
in time 2 jus pass time.
I am running past my everyday reality.
Seeing only trouble ahead
the good times left far behind.
See
I cannot stop this WAR.
This ever expanding
WAR ON TERROR.
No 1 can now.
& global protests still won’t bring back
the clean H20, clear air
& nontoxic soil, nature spoiled
4 the oil & the gas.
WORLD PEACE
thru pipelines & secure shipping lanes.
The sailors sailing containers
of Colonel Klink’s contraband thru customs.
Carrying cashcrop crates of cocaine
speed smack green & gold
& that’s how we bin sold.
Those sons of daughters
& fathers buying rose gold
& platinum chains,
the blood stains still dripping.
Now draped over once upon a time
lead lined necklines & wrists.
Bejeweled fingers & thumbs
enslaving the young.
I see American children
GROWING EVER OLDER
getting worldly wiser
cloaked in camel hair camouflage
thinking they soldiers in waiting
or rebels revolting thru
SYSTEMIC SELF-DESTRUCTION.
WILL THEY EVER WISE UP 2 SEE?
MOVEMENTS NEED $ & leaders 2 lead
wielding words & deeds
w/ they feets in the streets.
I’m seeing nonprofits & pulpits
protests & primaries as intertwined
w/ street corner poets
penning powerful speeches
drawing radio & TV personalities.
I’m sending voluminous luminous
liminal messages streaming
simulcast over the World Wide Web.
Selling CDs books & DVDs
& putting the dough
in2 radio shows & cable access
storefront ops & billboard actions.
I’m going from the cities 2 the towns
TAKING THE REPUBLICAN RHETORIC DOWN!
Sarcastically shouting & shoving
right wing shock jocks flat on they asses.
Sparking a literary backfire burning away
the layers of the American lie.
I am staring
@ all the people I coulda been
but 4 a single simple X or Y,
surrounding myself w/ strangers
subtly sowing my seeds.
Unseen acorn born growing
in2 gigantic ancient oak
chainsawed long after my time.
I am whispering wisps of wisdom.
Floating truth & lies behind
& beneath, between the seams
of these weighty words streaming
thru this pen & on2 the clean page
forever defiled by my hand.
& I may now understand
my tiny part of the plan
amid all the piles of papers.
THIS IS BUFFALO CALLING!!
Are you hearing me?
Can you hear me now?
Issue Navigation> Issue Index > v5n25: War Heads (6/22/06) > Buffalo Calling This Week's Issue • Artvoice Daily • Artvoice TV • Events Calendar • Classifieds |