Cold and hard like cash

Ha! What money? Don’t I look hungry-

Enough, with only skin and bones

The mother poet is simply a conduit

For care.( a.k.a.ATM), logistically

Someone had to buy the groceries 

and gasoline.

Of course, electricity must be paid and the internet

is always on, even with power bars,

despite attempts to unplug everything.

No money was any-

more than a thing to get another

thing or things.

Finally, detoxified and rehabilitated,

I breathe freely,

but it costs me my life.

There is no green growth in the wallet.

And every morning, there is money to be put in boxes,

sorted, split, and aggregated from valid sources.

So it was not me eating money or homework, or flesh, or words,

it was paper, fiber, DNA, dinero

And dang it-I remember having it

and not needing it. 

Painting by Wilhelm Gause, c. 1911 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.