Afterwards

You can put your money down and take away your useless goods

At leisure you ruminate over what you have acquired, afterwards,

Did I? With a smile withering from my lips, I asked the question.

Give me back the time I have used buying so many things unused,

Dance in the fires of anguish over the worth of what I now own.

I have raided my bank and used up all the funds, there is no payback.

I have gone into overdraft – I’m watching the balance go into negative

Listen to the sound of shillings and crowns spin out of control, no lack

Of the chinking of coins, never counted correctly piled into hessian sacks

Afterwards, I was not counting up the use of money just its evaporation.

Queuing in bank lines irritated by the tellers slow progress, the day went by

Was the waste really worth it, who can tell, stacks of golden coins gleamed

The attraction of wealth became an uncontrolled drug and we mainline

The consequences of pursuing the feeling of being well healed, clings

To the way to explain why the pursuit of wealth vomits, slighted credits.

Down in the vaults where people swim in the seas of making money

There are people who spend every day and every hour making lucre

With computers attached to their penises erections sporadically occur

With semen dripping from each bank note satisfaction was accomplished

It was a love affair made out of necessity and perverse expectation.

Afterwards when all the money dissolved into misery, sweepers cried

They stacked the remnants of the cash into the bank manager’s office,

Ordered from the building each sweeper was forced to reveal their profits,

It was not a self decision, it was imposed upon them they bled balances

They wished the piles were so much larger, more colourful and useful.

Money markets, are not like covered markets in the middle of towns,

Ordinary people sort through the goods they want to put their money down

The money lenders in the temples stood back amazed coins everywhere

Get the bastard who over turned the tables, crucify the fucker they cried

Money is their life their blood their reason for getting up every morning.

Stone faced billionaires rejoiced when money was ejaculated into their coffers

Filthy sounding words accompanied their joy they relaxed into a climax

Such is love of money, keeping people shackled to wasting their time,

For fucks sake they can not take it with them when they entered their demise,

There is no such thing as spiritual cash, but such wealth is better to accumulate.

The definition of money love is to speculate to accumulate, but money hatred

Was the spur for condemnation by clergy, they did not need they pretended,

Living in four bedroomed house rent free, council tax relief and no landlord,

Why pretend to despise money when being propped up for credit and more,

Hypocrisy lies down in the sun trying to create a new colour skin and hair.

Scraping a living, using the benefits prison, taking away pride and promise,

Where is the hope applying for meagre “hand outs”, can you stand this?

Poverty eats at the very soul laying waste to what was planned – expected,

Doled out support that has strings attached, a contract of dire oppression.

Feeling hemmed in the recipient feels diminished, shelved humiliated.

Find a space from where you want your money to be collected,

Don’t tell your relatives just how much you are worth, rejected

Their interest is sterling shaped, they are waiting for an activated

Will where sharing your body worth by tradition is separated,

Your death could release worth, but then who is counting ?