How shameless they areto bother me with all those
blatant intentions for money,
junk emails for products and tricks,
phone calls for market surveys,
distributed on the streets.
When you have a try-on at a boutique,
you are always made to feel good
by the trained smiles and praises.
Waiters serve you as slaves or servants,
since you have the king in your pocket.
Private transporters dragged you to their vehicle
like picking up bank notes along the road.
A computer hooks me up
or cars and planes take me far and wide,
I have no thanks for those,
since they were brought out for profits.
The only omnificent deity
which outlives all others
has driven things into the sky.
Good things do get done
as the Invisible Hand turns on.
Electricity lights up my room,
holes were drilled under ground
to get things to dec ladies’ necks,
but no matter how hard Adams Smith tried,
it is impossible for his machine to produce
the scarce commodity of love.
Afternoon, Feb. 24, 2011