Friday, November 10, 2006


The market is empty bellies on the street listening to transistor radios
The market is green fields plowed with shreds of metal dispersed by fighter planes
The market is street walkers pounding their feet to sounds of salesmen and merchants
The market is metal shutters closing down on eyes and concrete filling ears
The market is the big door you go thru and count the years til freedom
The market is the ringing of metal hooks and hanging meat_of blood on blue knives
The market is the well defined square that injects the eyes with commodities_it is the sound of a finger on a television controller that controls the eyes
A man stands on the corner with a closed hand and you approach him with a need to know what is inside and you look at him as he looks at you and his hand opens finger by finger til all is revealed. You look at him and he is the market you listen to him as he puts his hand in your pocket and laughs and whispers in your ear_ “no mo”
The market opens and closes all the time
The market gives you what you want and don’t need


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