Greetings from the Hill
65/75 N/5 Grey skies 0711/1805 90%H
The mood seems to follow the falling DOW,
watching the fortunes of working slaves
eaten away by the parasites on cellphones,
the computer ghouls at trading desks
dealing in the american product...DEBT.
This beast evolved from own with a loan,
masterminded by backroom Fink's
and the merchants of death with debt
and hedged with insurance...
"Yeah, yeah...let the government take charge,
and charge and charge, all guaranteed by fiat,
and that ain't no car," rants the madone
while watering the oregano and floors,
the gardens below and passing tourists.
"Learn from history, hofuckingho...
the young dunces are the stupidist ever,
the worst in the world, hardly able to
operate a cash register, but all transactions
will be plastic, the ultimate banking,"
grumbling in disgust as a young couple
pass below each talking on their cellphone.
The afternoon sun buoys the attitude,
cats on the scaffolding watching
the lovedoves eat their food,
across the street the lime tree losing leaves
...the end of winter...Key West seasons.
The oldman was facing the ultimate choice
and as always would procrastinate.
"You're so full of shit, tax time and another
birthday, more moving to Cuba tales,
put a big fat mortgage on the house
and see the world, hofuckingho..
got a passport yet," snapping two pints.
Of course the idea of raising funds to play
in the game of acquisition is a temptation
what with the given equity...
"Right on oldman, start your Vulture Fund
and pedal it to chinamen on bicycles,"
laughing out to the balcony.
Classics from Havana, Cary Grant in black
and white TV31, papayas bulging outside,
the old cat sleeping on the printer,
clean windows and shiny floors,
the machine to play with...
hard to leave paradise.
"A twenty percent adjustment in real estate,
prices will reflect reality.."
the oldman snorted at the talking teeth
on the downstairs television,
not permitted in the flat...
"Oil prices may come down
if the dollar levels out and the markets hold,"
the spin was getting thin,
as thin as Goldie Socks' ice,
may the crooked cocksuckers drown
in their pools of toxic waste.
Have a nice day,
not a breeze in the keys,
above the florida horn
and tropic of cancer.
Save canned food.
Eat at home.
Drink tap water.