Wealth is an agent in a gravity. There is a pull which one cannot deny. The pull delineates. The pull confines. Aspects of the terms of coefficients fascinate and horrify. The pull. The action. Groups of people pushed by the cold air and rise to the lighter warmer atmosphere, where the mind takes its own form and the muscles unfurl. Some are the closest to the warmest spots; some are the closest to the coldest spots. Intriguing the patterns. There are times in warmth; there are times in darkness. Attempting to gain an affect, trying to redirect the pull of the agents to a pull from within themselves. Imagining that the warmth that they feel is coming from within and that that this is the source of the power. “The power is not the wealth the power is me.” Facing the sun, declaring that he is the source of the light. But there is no control of the nature that is the market, there is only control of the people absorbing the heat. In order to receive one must deny. Driving the other group away from the heat. Melting their wings with the scorching wealth they are nearer to. They fall against the mantle of society. Nothing falls below the mantle, yet burning with the fire of fortune, positioning themselves on the seat of the natural market they drive the others into the earth into the frozen ground by the art of displacement. No heat will return to the bones of the others; no light will return to their eyes. No sound will exist for them. The snow will layer upon them until they cannot be seen by any light. Their impurity will not dilute the comfort of the chosen ones, put there by happenstance.