Rock Star Parking

What costs most in the world of things?

Not diamonds or gold. The answer is land,

the air above,

the water over,

and the lava beneath.

You can’t buy oceans yet

but somehow countries own them.

There is nowhere I can go

To sit down or sleep for free any time

of the day or night.

Where can I settle to be safe and penniless,

Assured that no one will bash me senseless,

Rob me of what little I possess,

Tell me to move on, you’re trespassing,

Or that’ll be ten bucks please,

No large bills accepted.

You don’t have to be mugged

these days to feel robbed.

Since when did people think

They could own a piece of the earth

and the air above it, too,

and the molten earthly core

and the oceans out to a specified

number of miles? The point is,

I don’t have a home or even a place

to lay claim to. I park

on borrowed space.

Having nothing, I think of money

not in terms of paper slips

but as watts of my focused energy

in exchange for what I need.

After I give up units of inner force

I must replenish my reservoirs

or I quickly become depleted.

How do I regenerate without tender

of the customary world?

Easily, if you are not proud.

Sleep endless hours.

Scrounge food scraps and furniture

from the refuse of the rich.

Listen to street-corner musicians.

Make up stories.

Love who is there.

Laugh till you cry.

 

Richard Branson, Inc.,

Let me know if you hear of any free space

on a planet with gravity.

Won’t you take me on your spaceship

to Mars as poet and muse?