Someone Called me from Burma

and again i write into
the night . hurricanes 
roar, days won't end
i am sick to death of
commerce and fear of dying

someone called me from Burma
today, mayanmar both names
showed up on my bombasted 
phone where my number had
be grabbed by the greedy

one guy had an Indian accent
my heart was not ready for
international wonderings today
i would like to afford a
renewed passport so at least
i could make it over the border
into Canada should the whim arrise

they'll put a chip in this time
to find or hunt me down for some
imagined tresspass or to save me
is what they say i mistrust the
greedy powerful, well not all
but most a wealthy athlete gave
away 150 million bucks today his
face looked kind i think he didn't
want another Katrina, but with
global warming the opportunities
will abound I think, don't know but guess

in our one room rental i sit at the
card table far from home, but 
remeber to be grateful for 
dry ground and a roof though
i do not like what happens
here i see the deep poverty
and sorrow all around me, feel
the bigger call to do something
i don't know what but guess
at compassion in action where it finds me

it is night and someone called me
from Burma today. i couldn't afford
to answer, but it's there recorded
Iphones do that take us way past ourselves
clikidy clak the keys tap out a message
maybe just that i am here trying to
know how to help, i am here anyway, 
i write into the night of hurricanes
and sorrow, i write love letters to
this world to the piece or peace that
i am I write love letters into the night

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