Pickled perspectives pinching pennies
with a rapid rubbing together of the copper-top coinage,
metropolitan canned concentration of barrel fires with
tattered threads that sit up on the treads
of worn out tires, the congregate garbage funeral pyres.
All alleyway rodent dumpster mansions
housing yellow-eyed rope-tail rat coup overthrow plans;
I express trepidation at the proliferation,
meaning the ease at which the disease spreads across the land.
I see I.V. needle-jockies jostling for warm-vent star-player positions,
with their sorry-soul hollowed out eyes of yearning
for better bread and butter fantasies that burn out
the too true fallacies of white-collar disdain and demise.
I display surprise at the wino sunshine-hillside turnout.
Crowds for the poverty picnic & medals for the illest,
cold, somber, withdrawn and laid out on the lawn
criteria equals DT-hands and tarnished dark hearts
whose only spark is at the mention
of a quick-fix cure-all universal substance application.
A feather-boa, hooker heel,an undeniable urban appeal
to the smog solution, taxi-cab traffic jam city-wide psychosis setting.
marketing the pauperism,
excercises in visually astute ignorance
of a picture painted not so pretty-
involuntary, yet ironically arbitrary stockade ideologies,
prisons where the cars are the iron bars and locks are coin-bought stocks
and the keys the pleas of “Spare change, please?” released.
where the holier-than-thou skyscraper egos,
jauntily wipe their asses with dollars used as tips for brunch,
then sit laughing mockingly, at the bum waiters who eat those same bills for lunch.
Where crowd face demeanor pleaser plays games of selective sight,
begging the question “Give a damn, much?”
and the children of chintz-sofa Bloody Mary drinking Mothers, are forsaken and lose touch.
The sky’s painted starless, folks are heartless,
anxiety is morning’s tea, sided with crumpets of obsessive-depression,
all criminals conduct their business, and never learn their lesson.
Justice is corrupt and violence is the answer,
and you can bet that when they’re wronging you, their throats will be filled with laughter.
It’s a surrogate for madness
and a catalyst for instability,
a call to arms to chaos
and a beckoning towards mutiny.
it’s self-fulfilled demise,
a most vile violation of purity
it’s our normative standard, contemporary conduct for living,
so all you faithless, embrace this
and come celebrate The Poverty with me