(inspired by the WTC disaster)   yes,    us people are just poems    we're 90% metaphor    with a leanness of meaning    approaching hyper-distillation    and once upon a time    we were moonshine    rushing down the throat of a giraffe    yes, rushing down the long hallway    despite what the p.a. announcement says    yes, rushing down the long hall   down the long stairs    in a building so tall    that it will always be there    yes, it's part of a pair    there on the bow of noah's ark    the most prestigious couple    just kickin back parked    against a perfectly blue sky    on a morning beatific    in its indian summer breeze    on the day that america    fell to its knees    after strutting around for a century    without saying thank you    or please       and the shock was subsonic    and the smoke was deafening    between the setup and the punch line    cuz we were all on time for work that day    we all boarded that plane for to fly    and then while the fires were raging    we all climbed up on the window sill    and then we all held hands    and jumped into the sky       and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast    and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed    and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar    looked more like war than anything i've seen so far    so far    so far    so fierce and ingenious    a poetic specter so far gone    that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling    over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on    and i'll tell you what, while we're at it    you can keep the pentagon    keep the propaganda    keep each and every tv    that's been trying to convince me    to participate    in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution    perpetuate retribution    even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution    is still hanging in the air    and there's ash on our shoes    and there's ash in our hair    and there's a fine silt on every mantle    from hell's kitchen to brooklyn    and the streets are full of stories    sudden twists and near misses    and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters    with tales of narrowly averted disasters    and the whiskey is flowin    like never before    as all over the country    folks just shake their heads    and pour       so here's a toast to all the folks that live in palestine, afghanistan,    iraq, el salvador       here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation    under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore       here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors    who daily provide women with a choice    who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city    just to listen to a young woman's voice       here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now    awaiting the executioner's guillotine    who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads    to find peace in the form of a dream, peace in the form of a dream      cuz take away our playstations    and we are a third world nation    under the thumb of some blue blood royal son    who stole the oval office and that phony election    i mean    it don't take a weatherman    to look around and see the weather    jeb said he'd deliver florida, folks    and boy did he ever       and we hold these truths to be self evident:    #1 george w. bush is not president    #2 america is not a true democracy    #3 the media is not fooling me    cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation    i've got no room for a lie so verbose    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    and 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 waving    the graffiti was teasing us    from brick walls and bridges    we were rolling over ridges    through 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 aglow with grace    and then standing out on the platform    and feeling the air on my face       give back the night its distant whistle    give the darkness back its soul    give the big oil companies the finger finally    and relearn how to rock-n-roll    yes, the lessons are all around us and the truth is waiting there    so it's time to pick through 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 its pants    and quit the hypocritical chants of    freedom forever       cuz when one lone phone rang    in two thousand and one    at ten after nine    on nine one one    which is the number we all called    when that lone 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 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 it didn't have a clue    look, another window to see through    way up here    on the 104th floor    look    another key    another door    10% literal    90% metaphor    3000 some poems disguised as people    on an almost too perfect day    must be more than pawns    in some asshole'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    sshhhhhh....    baby listen    hear the train?