And doesn't it thus become clear
that there is root nor reason
for this sadness?
That it is not just
subjective affection
and nonsense as such?
The organic heart
of my world body
made heavy
by the misrepresentation
that thwarts both purpose
and being
and maintains the alienation
of what sense I can make of it
as if the world was utterly
beyond me
so that whatever I feel
it's just me
whatever I do,
incoherent
as long as it is not what
I am supposed to do
For sure it's nothing
if not quantifiable
according to the logic
of money and profit
that if I refuse the robbery
I would be an outlaw
and an antagonist
to the public interest
held captive
by those to whom
the world ows
every moment more
"stupid vulgar greedy
ugly American deathsucker"
or whoever to whom there's
not enough money in the world
even if there already was more money
than the total value of things you can buy.
And no, I am not sad
that I have such a little part
in the money game
I'd be happy not to play at all
It's just that all that is sold
is sold for something
that is not even real.
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