seven come eleven

[saw]

I dig my humble space
covered in homemade endeavors
part and parcel
a life unshaped by
the pressures to conform
why try to blend in, why
try to bend like a capitalist gumby
darker green of course, with
a dollar sign cape and golden tights
makes as much sense as
"playing" the stock market
the lottery of scripted death
the false idols of a bitchin' logo
the abbreviations of the rich
or even the unicorn indexes
sprinkled with fairy dust
numbers numbers embers
born in a ponzi uterus
roll them dice baby
seven come eleven
come the jump from the eighty sixth floor
just give me my trinkets
made in trances of loving
mind to hand to wall
there is more truth in art
than any fortune five hundred
than any billboard blocking my view

[Terri]

good all the way thru
some of those lines killed me, between the humor and truth

[saw]

ah yes the contrast 'tween humor and truth.....thanx Terri

[sasha]

moneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoney$$$$$$$$$$$$$
.
.
.
ashes in the end. You're so right - gold-plated bathtubs, $15000 ostrich jackets, $14M yachts are meaningless - trite gaudy trinkets, empty hollow icons when compared to a golden sunrise, the freshening air after a thunderstorm, the trickling of a remote, woodland brook, or a freshly-minted poem. Seems the pursuit of filthy lucre deadens the sensibilities - crack cocaine for the wallet....

[saw]

right on. sasha !