Like a Bodhisattva
Freed.
There is poverty, and there is greed.
One cigarette too many,
One question left unasked
Like untouchable turkey.
There is greed, and there is poverty.
And there's never enough, yet a taste's
Too much. The void begats a galaxy
Of longing, a spiral arm of endless need
When there is poverty, when there is greed.
From towers they coordinate their stories,
Breaking truth away from frozen sheets.
There's no way down except as casualty
When there is greed, when there is poverty.
The noise begun as celebration
Ends as threat, warplanes overhead
At the sound of drums that knead
Because of poverty, because of greed.
The lay of the lawns, the perfect
Holier frames than thou, on gardens,
Lemon trees, kept within the inch of propriety
Because of greed, because of poverty.
But all the people see, in terrified pity,
Is the desolate house, caretakers gone,
The one lost to seed, left to weed
In fear of poverty, fear of greed.
They congregate in restaurants, quaffing
Blood-filled goblets, to talk about the Lord
Of excess, the ghost-like Son of penury
In fear of greed, fear of poverty.
They look out on the sea, endless in
The dark, green of nearby piers
Snags them like a spark upon their need,
To kill the poverty, kill the greed.
No matter all the jokes they tell
They want the world to open its mouth
And fill the air with every novelty
To kill the greed, kill the poverty.
Too many words, too much idea
When there's never near enough of both.
The black upon the white will always feed
To catch the poverty, catch the greed.
The familiar song plays on, perpetual,
But everyone is still behind its beat
And waits some notes ahead of its ennui,
To catch the greed, catch the poverty.
