She went to the gym every night, buying bruises So that she could watch some part of herself heal.
In the evenings the sun bled in the west, impaled
On the buildings and the telephone lines along the road.
When she drove home the stars smiled at her or grimaced, Then disappeared.
Some unnamed god or loving dead guided her wheel And she sobbed, blinded by the weight of absence.
Finally there was nothing except her driveway
But the last fteen steps drained more from her
Than the way he’d lounged on his naked blue mattress In a haze of marijuana smoke
And laughed when she tried to say goodbye.
— Juliet Brooks
One million dollar suits, the best French wine Cigars with caviar–Today’s splendor,
All for the average union leader.
It’s why we need your philosophy, Ayn!
With socialism in vogue now, Miss Rand, How can we stop the spread of state welfare, Road safety laws, and subsidized healthcare Without the guidance from your sel sh hand? Embrace Reality, reject all fools
And thus allow the greatest men to rise:
So force once-public parks to advertise,
Go Galt, and make with capitalist tools
Autos that don’t need to energize,
To crush the state’s anti-tobacco lies!
— Joe Milholland