laughing stock,
invisible number
he wanders from home
right out
to white out
(economic) conditions
scrapping
the sense, says
black tie tongues
of today’s electric(ians)
----the colored scrolls that roll acrosscreens----
he’s got
paper slips in platinum palms
shouting at (The American People) a moon above the chandelier,
an insideoutpocket, a cried face
He pierces the air
with prices
slices the S’es of elyi$ian ) illu$ion) He’s
graced by the holy
of spirits, you know, like
what’s mouthed through wooly
beards

Oh twirling like signs, dollar ones.

Today a will chapter is
a would law
still
Who wrote all
these, Mon..

he? Then the suit the saint
speaks lapsed psalms to
others dressed as bible covers,
holding also papers

that’s how how the economy is de-scribed

(a bell rings)
he dreams
of palmsomwhere
a blonder beach
a reclining chair
a topless car
pave loved.

he drives condo and
has sex like
eels despite the recession
of his hairline

and the wine
feels quite
like a rising stock
in his belly

till he turnsover
laughing crying
in his sleep.