The Count

One eye creased my device’s sight like Time Crisis, light him up like beacons

Cap peak placed low, hood up

Cleaning a piece keenly mirrorsheen, waiters wiping lipstick from glasslips in speakeasies

If yon gleaming glass slipper fit easily on any old flipper

Every bitter cripple, crystal-coveting grifter and archvillain would hold meaningful title

Cash must be layered like a trifle

You take it slow and get it right

Like a sniper lining up his rifle sight.


Thick wedge like won Cranium

Need axe to cut it, Thrax’s Lictor delects killing

Me picking Axel in Streets of Rage assured, Gilius when it’s Golden Axe

Now that’s in the past fading fast in the rearview like I struck and ran a passer by

I’m a bona fide tax dodger, pulling scams on AXA insurance, betting everything on black and red alternately 

Rules of threes things to note and live by, larger numbers divide, defy logic and find structure in the hypnotic quixotic exotique strangeness peeking out from behind what we speak of as reality in fact a fantasy I have often said mind you that matter is a matter of mind but no one minded and it does not matter either

Living on James Bond islands tax havens for necrotic bankers and their surgically enhanced mavens

Hot almost like Malta, exalted for lax financial laws

Lapis lazuli waves lap palm-spined golden shorelines, everything else white collar crime

Ask to touch it, can’t; Uranium

Introduce gun and gut shot

Exeunt pursued by dreadnoughts

Chopping stacks

Fanning bills

Hand tracing tips like crop-dusting crafts.

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