I watch my dollars feed holes in hungry roads,
Call out to the trees for strength to lift bricks,
Sink themselves into textbooks and envelopes until the ink is too opaque for mistakes.
They burn as they slide from my fingers,
Friction forming flames that brand and boil my gauzy skin
and I let them leave,
I let my paper fruits join the cycle of rebirth and I sow the linen seeds
only hoping that something will grow from my blisters,
My emptied home,
My sacrifice.

There’s a veil over my body caked in dirt that inferiority gives me,
And yet, through it I see claws gleam on TV screens.
Peeking through crisp white cuffs and scraping suit jackets clean,
they pierce through their dollars like stakes.
Metallic, they glow with laughter at the fire
as bills writhe under their conductive grasp
growling at every ask for a looser grip,
For their mercy,
Their charity.
They squeeze the paper fruits I’ve sown,
Drunk off the wine of my compliance,
Simply spitting out the little linen seeds.