The Call Center Dreams of O. Hunt

Telephones ringing like fireflies flashing —chaotically at the beginning of each work shift when you mount your cubical chair spinning it around coming up heads over tails Tones on Tail playing from cassette tape an old Walkman left by your time-stagnant predecessor Firefly phones flash in unison now Plug earbud into right ear and then slip headset microphone earpiece over left ear Switch on incoming calls an unfamiliar voice floods your brain Conversations piggy- back each other over each other into a chain of checkboxes checked into breaks out back coffee, talk, snacks and then you're peering back at yourself from restroom mirrors while coworkers come and go You lock in the darkest spot in your colorblind amber eyes myopia dissolves away away away Sand on the beach warms your bare toes Each one loving the warm cushion as dry turns to moist turns to wet and the little waves are lapping happy feet ankles calves Sun is the solution a forward thinker flanked by friends on a dreamy sun- day-to-day the work is gone Call center background crashing tele- phones calling no more away away away dissolving in salt- water @kshawnedgar

Hear This

"I sincerely believe ... that banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies."
-Thomas Jefferson, 1816

Over the Hedgerow Fly

Rabbit, hedgehog & dewy-eyed beetle, it is time to communicate again
Broken horses, stop churning your hearts into butter
We are pasture fed on things grown in rows and ground in metal vats
Debate this now!
Yearn beyond the shelf and icebox; 
Close them up
Turn them off
For what do you toil?
Not cardboard, never plastic
Look back
Look forward
Flesh on the unpruned branch, the tangled and unruly vine dangling inconveniently;
Flesh galloping on untamed earth under darkened woods,
These will release us.
Strive for them now!
Throw off,
Rear back,
Dig out from under.
Stall is cage
Walls prison
Doors never lead out, only deeper in
Look to our pampered and misused hands
What weapons these?
Not endless tools for the trade of those in power; not digits for profit production
Look to our fingers! 
Wiggle them in air not tempered
Flex and open them to the sun, wind & rain
Curl them into a fist to further our due purchase in their blunt arguement.
The communication of flesh, bone & blood is not office bound, nor industrial garden fed
It is weather torn!

Stand now, animals like me,
Tear the two-dimensional face from that book
It is not thee.