By -

 PETTY CASH

The glory of the heavens whispers

To the pockets that blister

My hands every time I try

To pick my hopes out of them


The republic sends wraiths

That fill my dreams with pain

Telling stories of my nightmares

To the miseducation of a capitalist


Curriculum

Epitaphs written in delirium

Project themselves into the hearts of the living

Petty cash

Adulthood is out of the neighbourhood

Petty cash

Heirloom is out with the auctioneers

Petty cash is pretty cash


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