[buy]

Well, love is something you can't buy. My son's love. My love. Never, my love. A new gender. Mind-bender. Mama's worried about enough. Not enough toys. Kisses. Love. More. Let's go shopping. Let's waste. A little girl grows up in Vietnam, too poor to even have one toy. My son has a million trucks. A million. No exaggeration. They overflow the house. They make great projectiles for fits of anger. When the shoe fits, buy it. What else is there to say about what is bought? A trade. The skin. Will my son ink his skin, will he buy a house, will he buy sex, what of his talents will he be able to sell? It's a weird world, an even weirder economy. Not sure if I can communicate all that I have seen in such limited time and space. Not sure I want to. I buy. You buy. We're all buyers. Let us beware. I can't be sold a bill of goods, that's good. Whatever the doctors say, I don't buy it. Cellular, cells, division and multiplication. When Cancer enters your house, you wish you would buy it away. It's just another microbe, here for the ride. Beggars can't be buyers. Cellar door, the most beautiful phrase in the English language, and we don't even have one.