"To all you Sorcerer's of Commodities...eat this..."

"To all you Sorcerer's of Commodities...eat this..."


a drifting spire of hegemony in the mists
that is what the wall says to the pauper
who can see through all things in corridors
of grocery stores and rat-race mall markets

"these sorcerers do not blind me!"
 says the enlightened boy
"they are but nightmares within my dreams--
I am their downfall for I am their creator and sustainer
exclaims the pauper boy with the eyes to see

"why should i hate them?" he asks
"Why, if i were to give them such time
as to permit them to be like leeches upon all my days
I would not be able to rise in the morning
or settle at night...all would be hopeless and drawn with danger!"

"they do not care for me. Why should my time care for them?
let them rot to themselves. Only the dirtiest of creatures
would feast on their bones, And I ask, what creature is
even close to being deemable as low as their ashes?"

I find these saints of commerce boring and suckish
they are like children in a sandbox always fighting
about trivial things as small as grains of sand
they have no comprehehnsion for the greatness of a wo/man.
I say we best not listen to their drudgery. it is spell casting
to the blackest degree and takes away from the potential to create
things that are not to the blackest degree but to the highest degree
things not stagnant but moving--kinetic in nature
easily transferable from one pillar to the next.
why take them seriously. yes they kill. yes they disregard the earth
pillage the forest burn the fields.
yes they have no care or concern for the creatures
of places and peoples of all stories. but why feed them with time?
why take them so hard? they are clowns! they like to hide behind fantasies.
do not let them make their fantasy yours.
for if you do, it will doom you for sure.

Yes, says the enlightened pauper
I see their evil. but rest easily
for their eyes are too blind to anything but themselves,
they can not see me, the me that I am
their shadow hiding with a knife.
biting like a viper one fang at a time.



 © 2011 Seamus Kevin Orion Fitzgerald