Money is a **** producer, who mascarades as a professional film producer, promising fame and fortune to young girls in LA.

Money exploits us all, telling us to cry on his **** as he forces it down each of our throats.

MMM

Money talks its valuable poetry, cha ching as we take the money shot, the money shot, the money shot...

Blaw! we take the money and run. Exploited, every one of us carries this inflated value; running around with our heads chopped off.
Where did we put our heads?
Not a one realizing how.
We put our heads collectively in the sand.

Money talks, but we dont. Money walks, but we wont. Money marches, but we cant stand. Can't form a coherent sentence while we're getting ******.

"If my dad finds out he will destroy me!"
"I won't tell."

Money wants us young, dumb, and full of idiom; and as the bubble bursts, we can't help but feel depressed.

Our faces are all over the internet. America the beautiful, I can hardly see your face behind the biggest, blackest ****.

If you want to turn anyone into your own personal *****, first you got to get the money!

Money is king. But is he kind? Money is our god, but what kind?

Money money money, MONEY!

The lyrics of every rap song on the top 100

Can we get some hoes and some money that we can throw's up in here!?

It's what we all want, and its what we all fear. Money controls us and rules us without a peer.

Money replaces trust, it replaces common decency, and puts a friendly mask on the face of a murdering monster.

Money makes me sick. It smells like burning flesh if you read it just right, and put your nose up real tight, it can start to burn you too.

Roll a hundo, give Ben a sniff. Money doesn't care if you sell it off to buy drugs or a train wreck. Money isn't ethical and neither are you.

Money wants us all to bow down, and when we rise up, we look like monopoly men.

Give me some money and I can change the world into a paradise on earth; give your local bank some money, and our world looks like a shopping mall.

Family, the heart of the tribe resonates beyond the horizon
beyond the soul into the great spirit, Mother Earth;
her eyes open as ours start to form; a single breath between us all,
in--and out we scream with uncertain emotion.

The spring of all life swells with joy at the notion:
the birth pangs of a new childhood, a circular trust, and a tribe reborn
in the spiritual spectrum of all ages and cultures.
Glistening, on the surface of oceans of joy, Father Sky smiles effulgent.

You are incredibly worth while,
I'd bend over backwards to see your smile
When you showed me your dreams
and you sang me your song it seems
that I could never forget you
in all my heavy years to get through
to a daffy dilemma that fools fall into.
To a higher tune than the ravages of men
and a softer sound than that most often
Given on the branches of lost relations.
Salvaged by the hearts of two native nations.

(Him and Her)

Who's self portrait is this,
ragged, aged, what did I miss?
An unkind future's true mistress,
bewildering my mind's new witness
for an unfamiliar face to resign in bliss.

This: the ache, the strain
delayed;
Betrayed the high way
is
The pain.

Swiping clean the mask
and peeling…
Off the skin,
and off the layers.
I say, “Off with rotten reverie!”

And to the bottom
splayed
and lust confronted. Wish
The ****** made
unchaste, and further hunted…

Bade. The wire and the sound
the wind upon the end
when wild
the civil keepers
Child, in vane, a-tempts

the sane
with flesh and blood to taste
the wine and bread,
Again,
will strain the strings,

of heartless, thoughtless,
loveless, self
protected by analysis:
Paralysis. Portrayed
in the light by time (and life) itself
Again!

There is a
Sorrow on the surface of
Your eyes, and a distance
in your voice like the
Stars.
Your love seems more
like Charity, and when
You sit, your attention
,down cast, seems
Pious. There is no
age in your skin
as though you are still
being born!
And when I speak with
You, there is an emptiness
In your words, and I am made
      Happy and Sad by
Your hidden silence.

And I made you a
Heartsong. I played it,
and sang it in the morning
when the breeze brought
dew, and the mist was
bright, and the birds
sang too.

And I made you a
Poem. And your cheeks
were roses, suddenly blooming;
and trailing behind me
were ten thousand peddles,
each one representing a
thought of you.

Baby time is calling to its window
The stars blink in, and fade to ash.
And I am a flower, a rose, a passing hour
Amid a cup of space—horizons twine.
My consciousness is a photon firing,
And we are the matter of gods.

Infinity is painting a self-portrait—
Its faces are everywhere,
Changing and remembering.

When the portrait is complete,
There will be another, by a new hand.