I collect words, weighing them carefully,
Shifting them from palm to palm like pennies,
Leaving my hands smelling of metal; of blood.
I polish them, hoping they are worth something.
But words, like wealth, should be shared.
So I throw them out in a silver arc, payment and debt;
Listening to them jingle as they bounce and roll into the
street;
Their value to be determined by the ones who hold them next.
