I’ll give you a
Queen you’ve seen
A million times before
Printed on expensive paper
And you give me a portion of
The universe, great or small,
Latte or yacht, depending
On how many more queens you
Think I have got.
money
Beggars all
The culture floats
In and out of
Any tiny
Fibre we call ‘I’
As it repeats,
Relish spills us-
Darkly we tap
The floor for new sights
Other people’s
Trash comes at us
With scraps of Right,
Written in Life
Tramp steels herself
To approach us
For a tenner
To loose the cold.
We give over,
Forget the gap,
‘I love you miss!’
Not a bad lie.
Eating money
Money makes meat
Money makes wheat
Money makes pies
Money makes my
Eyes look up
To see what I
Can buy for
Four pounds fifty
For gut and skin
Atop a gurgling
Frame, claimed
By Nature, part of
Her despite millennia
Of ink and paper.
Money makes meat
Money makes wheat
Money makes pies
Money makes men
Weep for shame,
Heaped up against
The Life they can’t
Afford, makes them
Dive below the bar,
Without the breath
To see a pearl,
Just enough to
Feel the deep
Press their lungs
And sting their wounds.
Being Every Day 