And to hands, too.
To reach out across the lips of the gaping spaces between the races, the sexes, the faiths, that exist only in the dark demons of your mind.
Out, across the imaginary, arbitrary borders and boundaries of politicians who use permenant markers and always play for keeps.
Out, across to the other side of town, to the neighborhood where your mother told you never to go.
You know,
Where THEY live?

And this is a call to feet,
To walk gently on the street, covered in sewage and sand, this holy land made sacred by the flash of human centuries of victimhood, blood, and pain.
To walk gently on the earth, her belly fat with future generations, future celebrations, IF she can take the strain. Because it's hard to give birth at her age, and the nuclear age looks like it's shaping up to be one HELL of a winter.

And this is a call to lips,
To speak truth to power when silicon chips get the billions and box cutters fell the towers and the powers that be say they won't take ballots for an answer anymore.
To speak poetry and prophecy in a nation of efficiency,
To shout out a promise in the night to fight the McNugget takeover and steal the beauty back.

And this is a call to minds,
To THINK, for that is what minds are made for, to think of the absurdity of hatred and war, and wonder, "why haven't I thought this way before?"
To think of a better way to survive another day than to do unto them before they do unto you.
To think of a world that you want to see.
To think of the person that you want to be
To think of a poem that will change the course of history because you wrote a verse that tastes like life.