I am the money man,
and of money I am made.
Oh-but life is all too open.
See how I sit here?
I don't work or fit here.
I have no budget to appraise.
Money does grow on trees,
and many of them are here.
But-I-have no soul for buying.
A game of points it plays:
not decimals or scores to pay
but a mock-quasi-budget for fear
to say "See? I have guidelines.
I have challenges and goals.
This hard aesthetic is ready to win,
and survive, without thee chart that
drains my heart so flat
and thus I-am-saved-from dreary-tax-form-tolls."
Started while residing on McBride St. in Syracuse, NY; 1992, aged 24 or 25.
Writings By Erick Heins 