Bank on Bones

Marks of promise laid across

spectral vaults. To grow

a counting house must feed

on absent life: one half or more of We

means They.

The layout says it, a bed of bodies gobbled

behind limestone and marble—

quiet operation, busy traffic muffled.

Threadneedle: a retort difficult to pass

without a secret formula.

All turns to prop what’s fixed,

flow and stock.

Over the water, a message buzzes:

get each Doe (John or Jane) hooked on a loan

and parcel the risk, longtail

so it isn’t seen.

A nice little BISTRO

(Broad Index Secured Trust Offering)

and the yield goes on forever.

Swaps on swaps on swaps, hard not to join in

though the value comes from something else

(mis-cell-any-us).

Muck to gold, the old dream is a bubble.

What moves outside the bell curve?

Who steps in to help the mug?

Somebody wins.