bonds backed by revenues from chicken wings,
music catalogues and oil wells,
barometric changes and unusual smells,
shriven souls, earthworms and cello strings,
the beers that daddy drinks, the songs mom sings,
unpeopled forest where no woodman fells
a single tree, but one tree, falling, sells
its unheard sound in sections and at auction brings
a pretty penny—the word for world is bourse
and we are made of trading in it, an
exchange of figures representing cash
the way that glue is representing horse;
Hegel said it: in all affairs of man:
first time as farce and second time as crash.