© Budget Night: Sad Show
S o now it is one thirty nine am; nothing stirs, nothing shows, such a sad show.
H ow did things ever get to be in such a confused state, I’ll never know.
A utumn once more gives way to winter and our displeasure grows.
D espair the world that its bold inclinations are due to cruel folks apropos.
O ver on the other side, in another dimension, well intentioned intuition flows.
W asted effort tries to stem the tide of avarice; that like Everest ever goes...
S kyward. Who will be the first trillionaire? Who cares who wins the game?
H ow these vast fortunes are accumulated – are but windows in the frame.
A nother element of my intellectual capacity, with alacrity, covets the same!
D ichotomies some say are dim memories, money is neutral, takes no blame.
O ut in the country seasons come and go, winds blow, although...where’s the rain?
W ilful negligence of those things that are fundamental, a sentimental refrain:
S ave us, save us, if you please, from these infernal bourgeoisie; they have no shame.