No late fees.
Low interest.
Borrowed money,
on loan, on their time.
Credit to the blue collar
workers who pays their bills
on time.
Save minimum wage or
incur a fine.
To keep big business profitable,
they must nickel and dime.

People are in the practice
of pinching pennies,
with hopes of avoiding
suited enemies.
Prosperity and posterity
is now a foreign concept,
or spoken in a different language.
The idea of it is sent overseas,
as third world countries
receive a taste of a marketable life.
Some assembly required.
Passivity admired.

Independence goes in the vault.
Lock and key.
Land of the fee.
Well, free with an
additional purchase
or the start of a new account.
Better to have you accounted for.
Better to put all of their eggs in one basket.

A basket that is fashioned
in another country.
For a country
that is going to hell,
and can't afford
the casket.

Tables have turned.
Seas have parted.
Cracks filled.
Edges filed.

Tempestuous weather
has been bestowed
upon the misanthrope.
Red, once white bandages,
cover up the cut throat.
Naivete is labeled onto
those who seek hope.

Never showing is worse
than time taking its course.
Hoping that a course
is precedent in the time
of a foreseeable corpse,
of course.

Eyes closed,
a young man close by
exclaims, "Fresh to death!"
Rotting flesh, covered
by a Maker's Mark,
or a Target,
never something seen Beneficial.
It's not like we could ever
Shop Rite.

But as this young man
exclaims a new age adage,
I close my eyes,
and hope and pray
that he's right.

Everything became interchangeable.
Words of wisdom,
which weren't welcoming,
were washed willingly.
Only now knowing
that the definition of a "wash"
is a sensitivity.
An appropriate metaphor
would have been a description
of an undertow; hands over feet,
because a cartwheel is superfluous  
underwater.

It's interchangeable.
The fact that the
white whale can
signify the tepid tactic
of the once sought
suitable soul.

It's tangible.
The decisiveness of another party.
A warm body to lay beside.
Another to lift the veil.
To speak love and hate
with full confidence.
Understanding that love and hate
is reachable.
Aloof to the fact that
you are
the love and hate.

It's manageable.
Although, *******
teeth has become customary,
the prospect of "******* face"
still lingers.
It's only until the lack of movement
with fingers...
It's the lack of *******.
But, it's manageable?

It's interchangeable.
It's knowing that what was
sought after was temporary,
that a sealed kiss will
eventually lead to an
opened envelope.

Then after time has taken its course,
you will be inside of another,
and another will be inside of her,
but the difference isn't the physicality.

It's the emotion that kills you.

When I said, "I write,"
essentially what I meant is:
I wrote.
The proceeding lines,
and the breaks that follow,
have been thought out,
from the apathetic hollow

There is a place inside,
of me,
and you,
mind you,
that you know is darkened,
and sheltered.
There is a "Manson for Ransom"
that screams Helter Skelter.

Oh, persuasive wink!
Keeping one eye open,
holding promises known
to be broken.
Speculation runs fluent about
this perpetual black hole,
knowing the higher we rise,
the harder we fall.