5 AM:
Human ambulances
distributing oxygen masks
to a world that has set itself
on fire.
Sirens colouring
the reds and the blues
on the faces of the comatose.
Wake up
or sleep on this:
it’s been a long time
since we’ve
figured out new ways
to mend broken people.
Wake up,
they’re building cities out 
of us,
vertebra by vertebra. 
Wake up.

24-hour Emergencies:
Attempting to resuscitate the romance 
slaughtered at the feet of novel love.
Carving brand new eyes
for visions stuck in old city gutters.
Prescribing a new dictionary for women
sick with empty adjectives. 
Support groups for freedoms
put on life support.

5 PM:
Addressers of the uncomfortable,
those who are enamoured by the wonders 
existing in human kindness.
Those soul indulgers, 
middle school white chalk breathers,
sun celebrating , 
midnight riding,
bright century creatures,
who dance differently,
but dance all the same
to amplify their belief;
not the type of belief
that turns stale
with forced repetition,
but the type that feels 
like a destination. 
Ode to those who shared
their survival manuals
with their neighbours.