i. advancethis one goes out
to those who can't shout,
to the unvisible legions
who are too proud
to pout.
this one goes out
in a frantic, relentless, profound shout
and wipes away universal dusty surfaces
of highly indebted doubt.
this one goes out, in a bang
to every allnite diner waitress taking orders
to the old bingo ladies rolling their quarters
to los migrantes busting through artificial borders
to all left wing independent media reporters.
this one goes out, in a bang
to all the stressed-out favela dwellers
underpaid bank tellers
would-be helen kellers
to all impoverished marketplace sellers.
this one goes out, in a bang
to any People's History book writer
every neoconservative face biter
each backroads rebellion inciter
to protectors of black widow spiders.
this one goes out, in a bang
to every child slave in sudan
every b-boy with a grandiose plan
every unemployed youth in japan
every prison convert who can recite the koran.
this one goes out, in a bang
to all the bloated stadium peanut hawkers
twenty four hour garbage pile stalkers
free floating midtown jaywalkers
to all the homeless vets
who are still smooth talkers.
this one goes out, in a bang
to each city made of tin,
every unknown soccer team that can't win,
each essential voice buried in the din
and each hand that feeds
a compost bin.
this one goes out, in a bang
to the urban youth pressed into a gang
the nerdy kid never invited to hang
the yin trying, so desperately, to find his yang
to every infant with a hunger pang.
this one goes out, in a bang
to all the amateur peace makers
repentant life-takers
expert rolex and gucci fakers
to all the worldwide
community garden acres.
ii. retract
this one comes back, in a crash
from all the emperors without clothes
every larcenous banker exposed
the stock exchanges that are now closed
from every noxious weed
that has blossomed into a rose.
this one comes back, in a crash
from all the kings who have been beheaded
every junkie needle share regretted
the thousandth dolphin carelessly netted
from every conscious reporter
who chooses not to be embedded.
this one comes back, in a crash
from every aristocrat forced to run
the fresh-freed pit bull left to rot in the sun
the organic produce handed out by the ton
from every picket line flower
placed in the barrel
of a gun.
this one comes back, in a crash
from all the expelled moneychangers
the unmasked covert ops arrangers
the newborn babies rescued from soiled mangers
from every desperate poacher
who becomes a park ranger.
iii. summation
someplace new, between
a bang and a crash,
a shout and a whimper,
lies the whole world, made simpler,
and suddenly
better,
this entire species
now spun
into a tightly-knit sweater
by a loom
of faith-forged iron.
