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.