Come, come recession, bring your scythe and cut;

it is time now for an honourable dying.

Greed you have had your time and it was good,

mining the hard rock of human imagination with

your blunt and clumsy blades, your work is done.

Yes, your work is done.


The rock is breaking, here and

there, now is time to nurture,

quietly with small hands,

the wet soil that gathers there.


Why still cling to greed’s potbellied poison breast,

or let your ears avariciously seek his fatal flattery?

Why grovel and bow to his shiny plastic wares?

Oh, how we want to believe his cunning tales,

gladly embrace shackles of pettiness and conceit,

gloating that all this, yes, this is us: look!


Is there something cracking?

What is that sound I hear?

Deep roots growing silently,

inside me and outside there.


But wait, pause your gluttony for just a while.

Look closely, closer now what do you see?

What, pray tell, to make our heads swell so?

Tall buildings (mine’s bigger than yours),

fast flying machines, little bombs with bigger bangs,

ever bigger plans for smaller things.


The rock is crumbling, breaking

up, and now its time to see,

open your eyes my brother, sister

come play in the dirt with me.


We’re all little bloated queens and kings,

held on high by a swelling economy;

those who serve with sweat and longing

are used to justify our patriotic cry:

“keep the wheels turning, holy brethren,

or we’ll all sink into poverty!”


Are you all mined out,

your empty shafts smoothly worn

by flashing neon signs,

reality TV or late night porn?


So, majesty with crown of glossy magazine,

step outside your air-conditioned SUV,

beyond the royal façade and plasma screen,

just outside your cold, lonely, lonely cell

is a world, its here and always has been,

its warm here and best of all its free!


Cracks open, let in some light,

mad voices in the dark

now seem alright.

Have you seen it yet?

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