Lying in bed, before sleep, I was thinking about capitalism and how everything has a price, and nothing without a price is given any value what-so-ever. It occurred to me, as a poetic project that I should create a poetry that focuses on things un-valued, beneath value, worthless, and on things priceless, beyond price, the numinous and transient, the unsellable.
Also, as I was drifting into sleep, these lines:
milkweed and mildew in an abandoned flower pot
Waking, these thoughts were still with me. . .