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Death of the Bull

(listening to Billie Holiday sing Strange Fruit by David Margolick)

 

There are thirteen places left on the planet

Where you can hear a pin drop.

Nostrils accosted with constant chemical confusions,

Eyes red with residues of manufactured effusions.

The serenading shark’s teeth of construction,

Dissonant table saws, serrated brainwaves.

Five-bedroom monstrosities screaming into the landscape.

Complacency mazes unable to meet the pace of populations

Racing to compete for the ultimate Street of Dreams.

Wake up tasting the aching memory of air.

There are only three places left on earth untouched

By the ravenous rumble of air traffic patterns.

Telemarketing sirens singing on the rocks,

“Buy and be saved from the truth of you.”

The truth shall set you free.

I’ve got God on the cell.

The roaming charges are killing me.

The moon is full because the earth is so empty.

Supersize the “Me First” mentality!

The missing twins of our capitalist

Glory days haunting the skyline.

We are as free as canaries in a coal mine.

We watch direct TV while King Kong swats

The flies of fair trade off the Empire State.

We are Dorothy in a new brand of Kansas,

With the mini-malls and the eighteen-wheelers.

The moon will soon be full of people

Living in domed Emerald Cities.

We are eating our way

Through our unidentified pain.

The weight of our credit card debt,

A gravity holding us to our grindstones.

Time is busy scheduling other appointments,

Please leave a message after the beep.

The sharks of our progress circling the collective

Consciousness like hungry stockbrokers

Lamenting the death of the bull market.

 

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