Blood in the Exchange

tin hats

Like a cobra, I watch the movement of currency

My head going slowly, side to side

There, there, look … a faint signal from the bowels of money

The dollar strengthens, the others weaken

I quickly rub my hands together, all for friction’s sake … building a fire in my fingers

The heat illuminating my mind, the light shining through my eyes

A dollar here, a dollar there

Each one wrapped in baby’s hair

The mud of boots against the floor, dragging the bodies outside

Lined up with the final breath of lungs, the fading of hearts, everything rising and falling

The movement of money outliving the dead

Financial projections like the sound of explosions rushing the herd toward the cliff and here we are, watching the animals fall through the air

One after the other, crashing below, the metrics of currency reacting to war

Look how much money I’ve…

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