If corporate Dems tell me about how 'We all do better when we all do better'...
Or about how 'It's not about class, it's about coming out for Dems'...
Or about how, 'No one identifies with the working class' or 'nobody wants to identify with the working poor'...
I say to you, WE ARE THE WORKING POOR.
Look at the stains on their clothes, listen to their words, look at the rugged callous of their hands, who amongst us can last a job loss, or wage cut, or a car blow out?
None of us, cept the 1%.
We are the precariat class, the proletarian class.
I say to you, the working poor and homeless are the 'emarginati', the literal marginal ones, the ones at the edges of society.
But who, honestly, isn't at the edge???
The Democratic gubernatorial candidate turned carpet-bagging Congressional goon, Bank of America executive turned-state-CFO Alex Sink embodies the centrist-right neoliberal dogma of 'business-rules', who cares about immigrants besides those who 'clean our hotels and do our landscaping'.
Brand-imaging, quaffed corporate Dems are why the two-party system in broken.
Both parties are sell-outs to capital, and they think we don't know.
We know, and we remember.
Neoliberal capitalism of 'Washington Consensus' imposed on the rest of humanity will fall.
I just hope we wise up as a republic in the mean time.

To elaborate on what Chris Hedges (the liberal who loves to play radical during uprisings) wrote in the Occupied Wall Street Journal concerning the goal of the Occupy Wall Street movement: “The goal to us is very, very clear. It can be articulated in one word—REBELLION. … What the elites fail to realize is that rebellion will not stop until the corporate state is extinguished.”
To that, I say this:
If you are sick and tired of living in the land of the 'free',
in the land of plenty,
while you see injustice
and poverty
and suffering,
then stand up.
Join a local chapter of Occupy,
join any progressive group.
If you don't see these things,
PLEASE WAKE UP.
READ, look and listen,
to the world around you,
rather than a TV, an Iphone,
or some talking head.
The deep inequities in life exist for a reason.
Capitalism, that oh so familiar 'greed is good' mentality.
We have to transform it totally,
beginning with a plea for rebellion.

We are a wretched and gruesome thing.
A night of drinking and swimming and fun,
suddenly becomes tense
with the touchy mention or exchange of a few words.
Suddenly fists are flying,
thuds of body shots and the 'ughs' of an *** kicking,
float out into the night.
Like wolves frothy for a ****,
the crowd goes ape **** wild,
oafish Baboons fawning over first blood,
the male rivalry and crowd roar is overwhelming,
nauseating.
We feel small next to the vortex of the mob mentality,
turned graphic depiction of reality.
You can sit in your perch observing,
in comfort and safety, as the the ten seconds pass,
as one brute raises his fists, while the other gasps for air,
cringing on the ground.
Whoops and calls and victory chants,
high fives and chest bumps,
and I feel a lump in my throat.
I'm physically ill,
at the inhumanity, gluttony, pride, and malice
all drunkenly converging in a whirl wind **** storm of testosterone and Bud Light.
Violence, with no cause,
is just madness.

In the train station of my mind,
there are moments,
doors open,
doors close.

There are cars taking ideas as passengers,
in directions multivariate,
and yet there I am.
On the platform, I wait,
Neither in motion,
nor in queue.

I am, however, thoroughly without you.

On the platform of my mind,
in the crevices of time,
I wait.

I long for a home,
merely an idea of true love's redemption,
whose direction is in question.

O how the weary traveler longs for the home,
the home that doesn't come,
for this passenger is waiting,
neither dreaming nor fully awake,
in the train station of my mind,
for an idea, in a moment that may never come.

When will you come home?
Or is my idea of home,
departed?
As you are.
As we are.

On the platform, I wait.