open letter to the editor

today i shall be:
a half poet in a tin hat
a father to three
a prescient embalmer of wounds
a neurosurgeon trained in pottery
brother to the bride

i am left behind by my own impulses
see that train
it carries those who could not run
from the battle

i can run
but i cannot walk
with these stick legs
and open bone

answer the telephone
the prophet is calling
take his call
let him lick the deafness from you ear
swallow down the gum make the eyes glow from within
the glow of knowing

archaen protozoa know it
tree fearing ground sloths know it
welltris knows it
don't you know it?