Die from mortal wounds
Or die from starvation

Die the death of debt

Which doctor
Is not a witch doctor?
Surgery on your security
Held at knifepoint,
Savor the scalpel of rich robbers

The nurse
Is a curse
To your purse

Drown in blood
Or drown in bills

The Hypocritical Oath prevails

Dread the eruption of poor patience.

For every poem you write about rich,
write ten more,
each about poor.

For every song you sing about rich,
sing one hundred more,
each about poor.

For every story you tell about rich,
tell one thousand more,
each about poor.

Poor lad lay there blight weak worse
Rough rag spreads on hope or curse
Kind hearts frail to fill his gut
Gold and cents ring from rich purse.

When you are sad,
   you choose to be happy.
When you are poor,
   you choose to be rich.
When you are weak,
   you choose to be strong.
When you are friendless,
   you choose unseen spirits.

When you are not,
   you have no choice but choose.
Any fool can choose,
   and only the strong can fight.
But only the brave and wise,
   surrender and not live a lie.
And when you are dead,
   you cannot choose life.

Only her scarce trust
She saves and is stingy with
Freely spending time

why is it that the zombie can't speak?
why are zombies poor?

why are most vampires rich, educated and always dressed well?



LET'S STRIKE FOR ZOMBIE RIGHTS!
SCRIPTWRITERS AND FILMPRODUCERS HAVE TO MAKE A CHANGE.

If we ate the rich
We could build playhouses from their bones
Paint fairytales onto marrow
Watch our children dig pixie dust from the grooves
Charleston to their windchime laughter

If we ate the rich
We could pave roads with their teeth
Crushed into twinkling mosaics
Speed in glee down the polished calcium roads
Walk on blooms of gold and lilac at sunset

If we ate the rich
Their skin could line our altars
Or catch the heat slipping through our walls
To warm our hearts or frozen feet
Whichever love was needed most

If we ate the rich
And cleaned our teeth for ligaments
And spat out the fatty gristle
And when all that remained of the last billionaire
Were just an eyesocket and some coins

We could sit back,
Minds and bellies full to the brim,
Fragmented bourgeoisie burps ringing, melodious,
And laugh at those who claimed, in the old days,

"You can't eat money".