Paper Gods

Paper Gods
Origami economy
full of
malleable animals:
sleeping bear and raging bull
printed on paper
without any worth
beyond dogma, like prayer
is wind caught in hand
from an angel’s lift—
the flatulent gas passed
from pocket to pocket
and stored covetously
in stygian safes
with elaborate locks
warded by digital dreams.
How dirty these slips
of belief, making rounds,
broken into
glistening coins
for wishing fountains.
It is
the modern superstition for which
we enslave and kill and betray
everyone else,
from our mothers
whom we shelf in nursing homes,
to faceless children
on the other side of the world
who die in sweat shops
and diamond mines
to prove our faith in the market
of percentiles and dividends.
Lose not faith
because of the infidel
regulators and socialists,
but kneel down
for the downturn,
and hold your breath
as, once again,
the Spirit rises
and the bubble swells.
Dare the leap of faith
from skyscraper steeples
and their yacht club picnics;
to the donation plates
for the poor
politicians whose wallets
are empty, having misplaced their
moral compasses
and now keenly feeling
the ache of that empty
lobbyist purse.
The one-eyed pyramid
E pluribus unum:
out of many, one
New order of the
retirement ages.
In Mammon We Trust.

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