Our money depleteth.
Somewhere in a town that speaks English,
the liquid of the barley finds the drain.
Chemistry goes down the pipeline of biology,
and it’s a pretty red penny.

Our money depleteth.
Our anxiety is refreshed in every motherboard cell
with no instruction manual to suggest
how the material should subject us to the gorge.
We’re in a feast or famine relationship
with the plastic master chip we forged.

Our money depleteth.
We take our cold medicines
and transform them into proper crystal poisons,
a strange alchemy for trailer denizens.
The crystal capsules, we turn into
our soul-rock rent.
Our organic currency is spent
and our hearts depleteth.


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