5256. LAST MERCHANTS WITHOUT IDEOLOGY

LAST MERCHANTS 

WITHOUT IDEOLOGY 

They scamper off, trying to sell air and water, trying to

turn a penny from a naught. They drink skylight from

a sponge, looking for the profit in the soaking and the

dollar in the heave. They pile up their makeshift rubble,

calling value out when nothing of value exists. Everything

is in the mind : the cleaving hand of worth, the auctioneer

of worthlessness. Get me that, sell me this. I'll support you.

-

The last merchants without ideology may all have 

disappeared, sold their souls, scampered off; they go.

In their wake, a  miserable dollar sign returns, the ideology 

of pride and falsity, the Uncle Sam of happiness. I come

 home from the fair, I hold nothing in my hands. 

I wait for something to rise up and greet me.