I was young when my mind broke, but I’m not looking for accolades. A miss is as good as a bull’s eye in the story I’m telling. I stepped out this morning and the rest I don’t understand. I learned to speak with other people’s mouths, poets then bankers, matching both timbre and content. I needed to know how they were running their governments. 

The English came and now they’re American. When I am done shopping I’ll restock the pantry and then I’ll explain all there is to know about the economy. For now that pail in the attic will just have to do until the bank agrees to tack those credit cards to your mortgage. Like they did the last time the roof needed fixing, so long as you kept making those payments.  

Everyone is in hock to the tits or the dick. A godsend, as we used to say in the lending business, then we’d sit back and watch the billions roll in. The juice is in the arrears, a fee here, a point there. Small cuts helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down.  

Detroit is growing carrots where there used to be architecture. All factories will be gardens eventually, houses too, but you can always sell the eaves and the copper to pay down those debts. The vig is forever though your crib is no longer. Thus concludes the education I promised.