Credo

I want more,no offence,
than a white picket fence,
locked up and tense,
bowing and scraping,
too tight suit chafing,
tie tied like a noose.
I want less, no more,
than to even the score,
without bailiff's kicking in the front door,
in the name of the law,
to take,
for fucks sake,
some crap I bought,
over which people fought for a sock in the jaw,
consumer indeed!
I'll just take what I need,
(but not what I want)
ration me,fashion me,
from left over greed,
I'll agree
to concede.