“
Now reading
Market
Money changed hands. It’s how we came to be
Came to be planted here in the mortar
In the miniature cash forest
Aster greenwood ficus hemlock
Taproot stipe calyx anther in the
Mortal hereafter
Hearing hands making money change.
Speak up. I can’t hear you.
There’s something wrong with your voice.
You’re speaking too fast. Slow up.
Speak into the currency.
It wants to bone you. It wants to receive
Your warmth in its coffers.
Listen up. I’ve a fee to see to
A toll-man a drawbridge. Open up.
Close up. You have a cross bite
In your crown, palate-ax.
Bite down. Bite my ball
Bearing interest.
I’m a businessman. I own a plant.
I bid for it, bought it, soiled it, drowned it
Tilled it, scolded it, heaved into it, stole from it
Wept unto it
A token in its behalf, suffered a stem
To rise in it
To market, to market
In my dirty jumpsuit
Worthlessness.