We scraped all the change out from the ribcages,
Funneled what we could into an undiversified investment.
The interest feeds itself; interest always feeds itself.
We are close approximations of lovers,
as lifeless as the screens we watch,
feelings like faint colors flicking across glass.
We can’t look deep in each other’s eyes,
not for want of trying, just for lack of
anything behind the pupils. Do we still love?
Do we still love? Did we ever?
But the portfolio is really pumping out returns,
the economy is booming. We might not feel it,
but the radio commentators assures us.

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