MOTES

Small things. Collections, like memories. Each one assembling preludes to the past.
Old worn out bar, wood floor, creaks caricatures of time, still my footsteps echo.
Prime numbers are odd except 2, defines the rest, and weary travellers progress.
Saw it on the pool table once before, anathema and regret, headed for the door.

CLASS WAR

Recent rises in food and oil prices cannot be explained by normal market fluctuations in supply and demand. It is a speculative bubble. Since the real estate crash, huge sums of money have moved into commodity index funds, much of which is foreign investment dollars from China and the oil rich mideast, but also from such interests as Teacher Retirement Funds. It is a new medium that presents great returns, a refuge from a sagging stock market. But at what price. Food riots across the world because of the scarcity and huge increase in cost of essential grains; rice, wheat and corn, risking starvation of millions. The motive is simple for those who run these hedge funds, greed. These speculators move from one arena to another, internet bubble, then real estate, and now basic commodities, creating these bubbles and reaping huge profits as they sell short just before the bubble bursts, leaving chaos and crisis in their wake.

In the coming political landscape you can be sure these interests will again try to suade the public sentiment with fear, slinging labels of liberalism, anti-business, pitting rich against poor.
Roosevelt was accused of instigating class war, because he introduced child labor laws, the right of workers to collective bargaining, social security, and regulation of banks and securities. Well, as Truman did a few months later, it's time to drop the bomb. Rein in these hedge funds, require full disclosure and transparency, where the money comes from and where it goes. Repeal any tax breaks that now exist and levy more on profits from selling short. But the problem is not just here in America, since these pirates can operate from anywhere, the World Bank and World Trade Organization being enablers and as much a part of the problem.

In a scene from Steinbeck's East of Eden, Cal, in an attempt to redeem himself in his father's eyes, invests money and contracts a farmer to grow beans, in anticipation of the outbreak of World War I, knowing the price will go way up. He tries to give his profits to his father, Adam, who throws it back in his face, saying he couldn't accept money that was gotten from the suffering of others.
Yes, capital is necessary for our system to function, but dysfunction results when the money is diverted from the purposes of growth and expansion of benefits to all, and perverted toward personal greed that is unconcerned of the consequences. Free enterprise does not mean freedom to ravage world markets and peoples' lives. When this bubble bursts, these manipulators will move on to create the next, perhaps health care, already out of control. With the government poised to throw more money at the problem, at the insurance companies and phamaceutical industry, without making the necessary fundamental changes, it's custom made.

GANG OF FOUR

DARK APARTMENT

She rises from the bed
soaked in sweat
retrieves her robe.
Cold water splashes through her hair
Don't look in the mirror.
Kitchen, dishes undone,
one last beer,
snipes a butt from the tray.
Parts the heavy curtains,
looks onto a dazzling white street.
Too empty, too hot.

ROSIE

Rosie is hard to deal with, not that failure is uncommon, or death, but loneliness that coincides.
Intelligient and sensitive, she hid from me, only flashes of humor. Her favorite song was The Clash "Should I stay or should I go". We hurt each other so bad, but stuck together till the end.
Challenged me, no thought of leaving. Precarious, how far a person can fall, how far they can rise.

When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long

And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong

Just remember in winter, far beneath the bitter snow,

Lies the seed, that in the spring, becomes

The Rose

BUKOWSKI

Charles Bukowski, born August 16, 1920, died March 9, 1994. Transgressional fiction. Transgress-To step across the limits, imposed by law, whether legal, religious, or moral.

Rebel against the artificial codes, restrictions of human behavior. See Bukowski.

congrats, Chinaski

as I near 70
I get letters, cards, little gifts
from strange people.
congratulations, they tell
me,
congratulations

I know what they mean:
the way I have lived
I should have been dead in half
that time

I have piled myself with a mass of
grand abuse, been
careless toward myself
almost to the point of
madness,
I am still here
Leaning toward this machine
in this smoke-filled room,
this large blue trashcan to my
left
full of empty
containers

the doctors have no answers
and the gods are
silent

congratulations, death,
on your patience.
I have helped you all that
I can

now one more poem
and a walk out on the balcony,
such a fine night there

I am dressed in shorts and stockings,
gently scratch my old
belly,
look out there
look off there
where dark meets dark

it's been one hell of a crazy
ballgame

from "Third Lung Review" - 1992