MANHATTAN
All those Rothschild bank men,
swooping down with their patterned
gold and disbursal papers, let's shoot
them all at dawn. You know, the
Belgian leftover royals, the dumb
Dutch burghers, the crappy English
fops, the pepper men with their
Germanic shouts, the fat and oiled
Americans, all sizzled and foul. I
may have seen them in a dream
but, yes, at least I knew their
names. Yet, now, in the new
and tyrannical light of day,
their silver clinks dead at
the money table, and there
is really so little left. We lift
our lamp at Freedom's door?
How's that go? Brokers and
entitled ones, we've made our
own Manhattan on this new
and tasteless shore!
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