1,000 poem for cash

i stole that title from someone

i stole the name from two people really.

everyone sells out eventually.

wait till i get mine they think.

my back bones are not

gonna be converted bank anymore

feeling like a british agent

and some fucked up yankee court

the beat isn’t mine either,

but i have another quote

i want you to focus on.

must be easier, to be a small time thug,

rather than pay the workers.

how much money

do you think i’m going to make?

go ahead, try and take it.

it must be obvious

i love myself too much,

but very afraid of black clouds

throwing me with a brown noose

going to have to run away

to i’m not sure, new york or london

do you know which direction

all my lies are facing?

the entertainment

and high-capacity magazines,

now coming to you

in bloody bylines?

what will be the price

of our lives later?

don’t think i want to bank on that.

how much will be cost

on internet news blasts?

who’s gonna get this,

make themselves rich?

3 1/2 dollars for 1000 reads,

people are going to be screaming

the others they keep from breathing.
i’ve already sold out.

quickly while you can

steal everything i’ve written.

i will tell me when i start this poem