#84: Fly It Or Diet -- If You Buy It, We'll Try It (Business)

(Sighn Post 6)

Ply Your Trade, Or Trade Your Honor,
Awaiting Gifts Dropped Off By Donner . . .
Either Way, You're Still A Goner . . .
Blitzen Stole The Sleigh.
Your Whole Damn Season Is A Boner.
Your Business Falls To Some New Owner . . .
Hell, Life, Itself, Is Just A Lowner.
Don't Be Sad Today!
Follow Rules, Or Write Some New Ones.
Life Is More Than Quarks And Gluons.
Business Shows The Fakes And True Ones . . .
So, Get Out There And Play!
Or:
Yes, It's Commerce,
But It Could Be Much Worse.

Once, between a couple of States,
we hit a floating rag.
It turned out that it was a huge
sombrero and price tag.

It hung up on the windshield, and,
though soon blew from the trim,
we had the chance to read what it
had printed on its brim:

"Arrows point, but do not guide us.
Gold and glory burn inside us . . .
but it's fear that tries to ride us
when we let it choose.

Pitiless, like fruits, they dried us
when we advertised like prideless
beasts locked up and fed by Midas . . .
in cagey, city zoos.

Count your money, bind and store it.
Buy yourself a Porsche, and floor it.
Won't your enemies adore it . . .
on its maiden cruise?

Your servant's ready when you call her.
She'll bring fresh meat to your altar.
And while the lambs await the slaughter,
the pigs wash up for stews.

It's commerce and you learned to grow it . . .
to fail, to cheat, and never show it . . .
to bully, bash, berate or blow it,
'ore the client sues.

So, maybe it's some nasty puzzle . . .
the dog that eats the dog will muzzle
stronger ones, before they guzzle
nectar and the juice.

Though product, hype and distribution
will promote the institution,
lest a union resolution
plays a striking blues.

So, in your final presentation,
don't you get this bad sensation . . .
your price and pants . . . they took up station,
down around your shoes?

And then, perhaps, it might annoy you,
as you give up hope and joy you
thought you had . . . they now employ you . . .
things you can't refuse.

And now you find yourself defiant,
'midst the would-be self-reliant.
You piss on every fiscal hydrant
downtown dogs peruse.

You laugh at warnings from some zapper,
scribbled in some common crapper . . .
it says your money is the trapper . . .
it's sticky, and it glues . . .

your very soul to your collection
of some things, at the select-shun
of your spirit and direction.
Acquisition skews . . .

you more to getting than to doing,
more to having than pursuing,
less to loving than to wooing
the whore of revenues.

But, rules are man's . . . and dice are Heaven's.
You're on "Go," but all your revvin's . . .
wasted. Even rolling sevens . . .
will only help you lose.

So, it's theirs, who fed and fried us . . .
bought and paid, and now abide us,
that will die, and therefore, lie dust,
these gory avenues.

The gun goes off, the period's started.
The quarterback had only farted,
but the team thought he imparted
some secret, coded cues.

And after all, it's only playing.
Business isn't more than baying
at the moons and stars we're praying
can help us light our fuse."