On a hot airless day, the fires of Wall St. at last out of fuel
Atop smoldering asphalt and foundations constructed of human souls
Monuments of avarice, dark, foreboding and deserted
Concrete citadels, feathered nests of the captains of industry and finance
Long held erect by the sinews of the exploited and cold, cold tempered steel
They look out upon decaying, dying, destitute cities
With eyes fashioned of thickened, tinted glass framed in gold
They weep in lugubrious unison, champagne tears dropping
On the entrails of worn and useless, besmirched red carpets
Lamenting over the lost $ love of their lives
And high overhead, soaring in tattered Armani suits
Six bald eagles, icons of gilded malfeasance
Surfing on black clouds of noxious carbon dioxide
Once boldly contemptuous of Marx
Once resolutely enamored of Reagan
Begin their descent to assume the role of pallbearer
On this, a hot airless day of simmering shadows
And shimmering decay, announcing to the world
For all to see and hear, that the once mighty dollar
Has died.
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