A well worn path in the grass
A permanent smudge on the bell
Both put there by U.P.S.
Bringing me more of which I delve

Whether Infomercial or Shopping channel
Maters not they're both the same
I have both they're 800 numbers
They have both my number and name

My family thinks I have a problem
It's plain to me they don't understand
Shopping and T.V...the best of worlds
With remote grasped firmly in hand

And the deals, why they keep on coming
3 easy payments are done in a snap
I might have a bit of a habit
But it's not like I'm addicted to crack

Of course I only purchase what's needed
Though every so often I do have to splurge
But only if the object is shinny
On that you do have my word

Now if you'll pardon me, here's a new item
And they're getting ready to spill the deal
By the way, I'm also expecting a package
Would you kindly listen out for the bell

"I tried. I tried. I tried."
A scream so desperate it turns into the grating whine of a whipped dog. The begging in the eyes and the white of gripping knuckles.
"I tried, I promise I tried."
The damage is massive. I cradle the shoulders of the full-grown man in my left arm, my right hand hovering helplessly across where half his body used to be. It's too much. He's shaking, trying to pull himself into my chest, based on the feel of his hands. I find his eyes. He's begging, repeating himself with agonizing desperation. I grip his face firmly in my right hand, smearing blood and sweat. The pressure on his jaw slows his words and he is staring at me with the deep-eyed trust of a loyal hound, sinking into the promise of my unwavering gaze.
"You did well," I murmur, giving his head a gentle shake to emphasize my words. I blink to clear the pooling in my eyes. His mouth is open, slack, but he tries a smile. He is choking. On bone or blood, something I cannot see. His legs **** convulsively, but he doesn't seem to notice. He keeps my eyes. I gently rock his head with my hand and his eyes grow absent. His legs grow still.
I weep into his mangled chest.

I see that you started following me
Did you click the gold star on a whim
Are you now sitting back, trying to relax
Waiting for it all to begin

Did you come here looking for answers
Or simply to be entertained
Should I now bring in the flamingo dancers
Arriving daily on the boogie train

Are you here to share in some laughs
Or looking for a shoulder to cry
Maybe you felt a pull to follow this fool
And you have no idea of why

Did you read the fine print..."If you follow me"
To closely it might drive you insane
I have dozens of  lawyers waiting in the wings
That can expertly shift all the blame

So whether I hang out with the head of Johnny Depp+
Or start belly button lint dust fires+
Even digging up the body of Elvis +
All would be true if it wasn't a lie

Just remember that whatever happens
When I open the door to my soul
And give a slight peak, inside to see
It's not like you haven't been warned

do you ever feel drawn to the homeless
have a strong ache for their plight
not knowing where they'll find their next meal
or where they'll be spending night

can you even imagine the feeling
of having to hold your hand out for a dime
do you ever stop long enough to think of these things
do you ever give such thoughts your time

do you wonder how it is they arrived here
like many just one pay check away
did they think they would be caught in this moment
if you questioned them this yesterday

can't we give a hand to our brothers and sisters
they're really no different than you and i
we all walk on the same fragile tight rope
where any day we could fall off the side

How ironic that one would take it seriously
With this new sincerity hanging so precariously
Satirical words, balanced in a peculiar fashion
Overtly reminiscent of a post-modern passion
And you, who read this, please be aware
To all other poets I simply cannot compare
Proletariat boy with too much time to spare
With this piece it's time that I declare
My mind is in a sullen state of disrepair
Always be aware, that I was never here.