The Markets

featured in Rumsfeld’s Sandbox

Fear. Corpulence. Fear.
Walled streets

Trading fiat
for the currency of age.
Our stage
lies between sheets
of ink, sits high
upon shelves
of duty or share,
coined to sell ourselves
for mints.

Emptied of all sums
like pockets
dressed with lint.

Swill and sway of pigs,
of cattle, corn syrup’s shuck
and jive, oats sow themselves
wild, alive.

We’ve been here before.
Will we ever learn?
We seldom hear.

first published in Breadcrumb Sins