The way they shine from the silver
They tell us a lot about our others
Our own failure in others success
Their hands being full to shoulders
Of gold earned in white countries
Of night work on sweaty computers
Of houses and cars they  flaunt here
On green paper they make in cold.

This our paper  shows  a bald man
Against their  one of  shoulder hair,
 Breeches on tight legs and corset.
Our bald man is naked in the chest.
Our paper buys so much less that.
We live in two bedrooms and drive
Two-wheeled  sputtering machines.

The way they shine from the silver
They tell us  a lot about our others
Those of sons with their mirrors
Held up to the others ,our  horns
Turn green on the silvered backs.

Their paper seems less grass green
On the other side and not all that
In the  lonely lands across the sea.
The green paper shimmers green
Only in the country of heat and dust.

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