Lady, three white foolish myths shatter the cool tomorrow In the blue layer of feeling, hunger transparent Handmade stomach heart and liver, containing the hunger In a starving hard commitment. And work ethic said Sell me your bones. sell me Their contents or I will demand compensation. And the chirping glass structures (which were eternally vacant) Said: because of the foolishness of this Lady And because of her hungry orbs, and because Of her mouth full of silica We pour forth our pockets of glittering shards Accept the sand of oblivion, and fracture In the immensity of this gilded and blasted rule of horn To which we offer our guts And the translucent strings, attached to our indigestible time Which the tongues forget but the flesh remembers As a cruel hour, as only the cruellest hours Are pared to a union of driftwood and myrrh And other ridiculous forget me not games Heavy with circuses and bread, and games of chance. That rattle in hourglass stomachs and heads. And work ethic said Do not grieve for the poor lazy sods heavy with famine What they surrender is yours for the taking. The bones opened their translucent valves and played Talk and grow rich Pull any strings Be the greatest Living salesman Or the greatest Dead salesman Create wealth without wealth Without heart But with stealth Terminate competitors And their homes Feel satisfied Or unsatisfied As long as it pays And you pay With or without Your stomach Your heart Or your liver Grace to gold And the endless Pursuit of profit In cool shattering tomorrows where bones play whitening songs The blueness sets in invisibly, and the myths grow larger Than the original myths and the keeper of the myths, Lady Merchandising, forgets her intention to donate. By the flecks and glitter of industrial diamonds, by the laws of addition, subtraction and multiplication She steals. She takes. And they have lost their inheritance.