the low hum of a hard-boiled computer,
as brothers play calloused cards in the other room,
hums to the terrible tune of the untriumphant world,
to the tune of a soul stuck in traffic
like a dead man who is still
alive in the key of
love.
but love is not a commodity
it is not an curious oddity
like so many have before thought
it cannot be bought and sold like
consumeristic clothes or
Jesus Christ. it has to be bought
with a price.
