I’m pinching on dimes because the penny’s not worth much these days.
we’ve turned over all the copper and burned through paper just the same
they told me “money don’t grow on trees fool”.
And the powder littered streets are eating through the scalp
my dear sweet freedom I’m dropping quarters on your shell shocked eyes.
While slipping through asphalt on your thick, thorned, thighs.
My drowning city swells before **** battered boots,
as denim rusted suburbia smokes their own noose.
I cried for you that night as the acid burned my face-

So where’s your white picket fence now??
Because last I saw it was splayed across a homeless mans back
as he carried it to his cardboard hell,
Muttering “please, just your pennies will help".