The Eight Poems of Nothing… Don’t Expect Much
Men Who Love Money
They are usually business men
Seldom unmarried, living their lives with women half their age
They spend their afternoons sitting at their desks, eating fine quality food and listening to cash registers only they can hear
They play their game of stocks
Watching only the thin red line raise and fall
Each fall is visible in the vein by their temple
Age makes them fat and gives them coronary disease
When they die, it is because their diets fail
Gently drifting off into a heart attack or stroke at their desks
Not Much
A poet sat typing his last goodbye
So he stood on his chair
Ran his hands through his hair
Tightened the noose and died
Hate
Some would say it's man-kinds greatest invention
Like a foul acrid scent with its origins in the sewer it rises, and bends us like wet clay
Dark eyes, covered faces, people lurking in the night
Some would say it is man-kinds greatest invention
The car of humanity which we live in is driven by a motor
Hate is the motor it drives everything
In the dark of night there are only two truths:
You hate, and someone hates you
Hate is man-kind’s greatest invention, use it wisely…
