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Not For Sale (poem)

It's all the same war
Not For sale

He is the war
on himself
selling copies of his soul
on the sidewalk scraping
up to the library steps
A giant military miltiplex
movie vehicle modified for mass consumption
lords up to the curb
and serves a silver platter back drop
for his cries
one dollar at a time
he copies his soul
is winning support
mounting the stairs
over my shoulder I guess
He doesn't want to die
like the SUV soldiers
marching in their plastic army
circling around the commercial
drain-ing the life-force from the holidays
It's a war for your credit card privilege
versus his newspaper soul

I wanted to believe in Christmas
when I was green
But a dollar here and
a dollar there really adds up
to a mountain
of dear God
sorry to bother but
when do we worship
something other than the shiny new thing
glistening wet silver-lipsticked-shadow
of humanity's plastic heart
Surgery is required
to extract the last kernel of compassion
For the mothers and poor-me others
are the only ones who will help
He is the war
drums beating death-money
marches over every living thing
crushed by the giant military multiplex
movie vehicle modified for mass
and I don't even notice
how I've forgotten to care
conceding defeat in every
poor-me step up to the throne of pity

When Pluto made these Lords
from mud and sticks
how did he know we would
all fall down
in worship and fear like
brown grass beneath their feet
and only one would stand up
dare the library stares
to deliver one copy of humanity
with a soul not for sale