SelfEvident

"Remember, all I am offering is the truth. Nothing more...." Morpheus

Self Evident
(inspired by the WTC disaster)
by Ani di Franco

Remember Terri Schindler
1963 - 2005
09:05 EST

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 stairs with the whiskey of eternity fermented and distilled to eighteen minutes. . .
burning down our throats down the hall. . . down the 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 windowsill, 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 ingeniousa 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 tvthat'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 who 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

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
let us 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

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