Economy

Clip our ears 

with honed shears. 

Sunshine is fool's gold,
debtor Moon's silver
dross.

Trim eyes with blinding tides:
not waves, nor friendly hands,
but actuary.

We wept like barren Queens
when the market

crashed without falling.

Your budget

builds hovels
on our backs.

You took the mint,
leaving us with
bitter credit.

The coined heavens
are counterfeit.
Economy is nothing
but cruel alchemy.