the copper thief

honest abe
is turning blue-green
for the copper thief
in him he distills
all cheap and empty
well wishes, and the
worthless escapees
from pockets
too weary to hold.

he pulls veins from
the world they built
their tangled and connected
world, a wealth so
under-appreciated
it goes unnoticed
and secret running
juice, empty and insipid,
from hollow ear to hollow,
from bored intention to
the taken consequence.
like weeds he gingerly
plucks them, careful for
the roots, and paints them
the color of the sea
and envy, which they long
(servicable) forgot.


they say blood smells like
copper.
but in sterile
wound-holding
bandages
the world has forgotten.

so the copper thief
sets about and collects
and hoards the treasure
they've left behind
and unknowing.