Money makes

Clock tower
but time stands still—on
an insignificant hour
and the world continues to pass by
unaware—
men in suits, sleek mobile languidly held to the ear
talking to some drone that promises to make them more dollars
to put in a black bag
bank account
under the bed-
more zeros than anyone could possibly count
spend
or know what to do with
enough money to feed an army
a country
a world
greed-
gorge
revolting
envy
ecstasy
doom
clock tower
hands tick ever so slowly
last breath taken
while a mother cries with rage-
no money here
no food
no meds
just death
what to do-
money makes the world go round
and round
and down