Glasses Crow on Fiat Money
You’d think there’s more copper in a black man
blood than in a penny—every time they shoot
dollar signs spring from his back don’t matter
whose face they print on bills whose
they chisel into minerals dead is dead money ain’t
nothing not even time watches
tick till hands exhaust—
that’s a heartbeat not a slot machine
we all assigned worth
armed pieces gold-dipped
a fiat they lynchin’ us
wit our own …
