Money Talk 8/2/15

Hey money!

You called me by this handling of me,

while I indifferently and placidly stare back,

privately claiming, “you don’t really know me at all.”

I am just an intimate spectator

in your ritualistic behavioral mix

and the subsequent handouts as if in flurries.

But lest you forget,

I am the fingerprint diary to all of your underhand deeds.

I am the most interesting book in your hands

that you have never thought to read.

Sure, you touched the cover of me, made an impression,

maybe passively noticed my denomination

but never read of my journey as behind the images

or beyond the numerical value assigned.

I am your trust monkey, almost always on the move.

I travel through a forest of human hand-kinds

and linger at the beckoning of nightmares

of these dark-mindful necessities.

For some, the handling of me

produces just for short phrases and keywords

as in the slightest of skimps and touch,

for others it’s blobs and slobber as if it’s crayons 101.

I cue well and am patient in formational displays and folds.

Occasionally we take journeys together, side-by-side.

And just as easily, be gone, never to see each other again.

We have been known to thrive in group gatherings,

shipped along, passing as bundles or bricks, so to speak.

This makes for some kinds of propinquity in friendships

with others of my like kind.

I am sometimes clutched but easily abandoned.

I am occasionally earmarked as if orderliness has come.

I am lined up, stacked, counted and then stashed.

I feel like a messenger of life

that has been declining in value and respect.

Of course nothing is that personal to me.

I am just a hand mirror of reflection giving out respect,

yours, but mainly through the presence of me!

Most of my life, I am a stillborn printout captive.

I am gladly this orphan, coddled in most humans’ hands.

Sure, I have heard of these rumors about me and my kind,

the origami that folds me into the static postures and poses,

the lives of dabbling at coke lines,

the bump and grind I can become attached to,  

the indifferent ATM’s of dispense and retrieval.

But please know that every one of us is in a reality movie,

more human or notably humane

than a paid movie director could document account for.

I am so much the party to the privacy of personal lives.

I have become aware of a huge spectrum of human feelings.

The hand contact with people is precious and sweet

to experience for its abundance of richness.

I know from moisture, fragrance, tension, and touch

never to doubt my skills of observation and gathering.

I understand more about the human condition

than politicians can surmise, governments can mandate, 

and any single person could endure.

If I had ever-unceasing compassion, you’d all be rich.

Well basically you inherently all are

yet really, I am only the life of a qualified disclaimer,

but I mean to live in your life as a bounty of trust,

ever towards a unity and oneness of the human kind . . .