The degradation of money is made beautiful in your skin,
the bright breadth of imagination, hopes and dreams,
vividly colored and singing to me
across the train.
Here is one way to flaunt wealth,
to make true clothes of it,
a brilliant quilt of accumulated tales and years,
how,
unlike the precious metals and gems of ancestral ranks,
it cannot be melted down and sold
or traded for other resources to “own”.
A thumb in the face of their grand mythos of money,
the imaginary god so many worship,
but few will acknowledge,
even to admit the truth
to themselves.