The Market
This is the thing I did not want to buy
From the new imperialism that must own
A man's reason as much as his soul
The one world economy where the minotaurs sigh
Along its global trail of isolates and bone
This is the thing that glitters now like gold
But I, I know markets
Where the rise and fall of greed do not abate
I have felt the callous hands of markets
Wringing me sponge dry until I am an empty slate
This market is a long stair we climb
To dusk at the sellers empty door
This market is penury made sublime
In the husk of men straddling the shore
I saw it all come in one momentous end
And with my hands in my empty pockets
I walked away, while the auctioners to the cave descend.
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