Sometimes I see it all as a product of rage. The black men sleeping on the Pickett School's steps, for instance. Karl Marx would see it as economic. I agree with Marx. Rage & economics. Garlic at the Fresh Grocer claims made in China. What's it like to be a banker, what's it like to be a shitbag? In a poem to Virgil Moore Tim Dlugos lived "cheek-by-jowl with the poor/whose lives we thought would have improved by now/through self-determination and a brand new kind/of socialism, one which put down nobody." His friend Virgil had been dead for years & he wanted him to know nothing much had changed. Friends had aged, Reagan got elected. My grandparents think Obama wants to turn America into another Germany – the Nazi version. Nothing much has changed, except more looks the same. That's American socialism. All the same, no questions asked. Ricky Boy tells me other than the "Feminist Problem" of the 1960s, we're doing fine. Maybe that came out wrong, he says. I know it came out as thought. There's more to be done than I thought. How do I tell him Capitalism is a bag of shit & not hurt his feelings. Maybe say bag of crap, not shit, & hope he don't cry. Apparently, Americans fear the reaper. That's why they want nothing to change. He'll only chew the rocks of The Tennis Court Oath, if I ask him (force him?). I only know two things: loved ones are important & we should do good for people. I think I learned that by using my eyes – Look at us! We all need help. It's no secret, the Soviet Union was a disaster. Jean Donnelly in "Anthem" says "not all fifty states can be beautiful." If she means people I think I agree. If she means land, I wonder. The sky is the bruise in my brain. Solemn grey. I think I like it. My father once said, in 1995, Marxism only works on paper. In 2009, Capitalism barely works in practice. Another student asks "Can we disagree, or are we just supposed to get with the program?" I suppose it depends upon one's notion of disagreement. If that notion is complicit with the quo I'd hesitate & think. I've been told consistent lateness is unprofessional, that it's hard to be entertained & that poems aren't interesting. The hosts of American Idol getting jack-hammered in the dull night, that's entertainment, but cruel. Don't I not support cruelty? I like to sit where the flowers are in 30th St. Station & ride the 6:23 AM train. As you ride, the light grows into buildings & the trees leaf green. Walking in the Whosoever Gospel Mission I ask for lamps. Today they are 20% off. A man with few teeth takes me from room to room. I'm not looking for the light of Jesus. He is a light to some. We brush past a man, whose breath stinks of smoke & rot. He's got a cavity, whether he knows or not. No lamp appeals to my sensibility. I think why have one? It'd be easier not to. Magic Johnson promises 100% satisfaction guaranteed at Rent-A-Center. Lottery tickets rip the streets. The other day I bought wine. A woman asked me to buy her pants. She had few teeth & stood with soft voice in front of Best Thrift – New Selections Daily. If I had taken the bus, what would I have seen? This timeless indictment. 3 lb. box Sweet Tangerines $1.99/ea. The Symphony is nice to go to it costs at least $9.00. This is a big engine. It purrs. Shalom Beauty Discount couldn't stay open. They sold wigs & closed. Christian Books & Gifts……And Then Some are open & two doors down dealers belly-up to the bar in DelMar Lounge. They sell the Champagne of Beers in there for $2.00 & sometimes never close. I have the privilege of distance & discourse now to know the fix is in & not here to be found in some present form, because we've not thought it, or perhaps we have, how would I know? The privilege & discourse of distance is a removal, a talking about the thing with no idea attached, or there is an idea so fixed it blinds those who should know. We are made things to be, eat, & swallow. Whole petunias. Not really. More like a feral cat, who starves for want, eats rocks, ending with rectal prolapse. This isn't from my imagination. This makes my imagination. I have seen it on the 4600 block of Pulaski. Carolina called the SPCA. They couldn't come. Animal Control said they could & put the cat to sleep. No one to accept the responsibility for the animal alive. What's happened to the supposed arch-American interest in aversive thinking? So few of us turn away. We turn rather like a blob. Only now am I getting to where I am.