Some time in September 2008 in a hotel

Puffed mist,
compliments of the shuffling limbs dancing through the paths. The sore on the tip of this country tongue is rubbing against the ass of its teeth.
The dry heat clouds of this dusty commotion have put sand in our eyes and zombie remotes in our laps, believing all wee see on our TV screens.
We are the watchmen with mallets in our hands and distress bells at our sides, blinded by the lucid slime glazing our eyes, as violent,wicked,self interested fleets invade our mindless states.

Could it all boil down to a tarnished spoon scraping clean the belly of a can of beans?
And who will get the chance to lick that spoon clean?
Its the result of the big man needing more dollars to stuff his wallet with, to make it softer to sit, amongst the rich, while past dedicated layoffs watch from a ditch, soil filled finger prints gripping signs that read "Honestly, I need your change."

And any change, be it of mentality or currency would be a positive start. But honestly, there are to many fancy ties in the room and I cant see which deep pocket in those shiny slacks holds the yo-yo wall street is spun around. Who's fingers is that string knotted to? The figure of speech "110 Percent" just doesn't resonate anymore.