A Library Card as a Weapon

The bankers prowl the shores of decrepit democracy seeking pigtailed children to devour. I have been a little girl for 37 years, chasing a shade of blue so perfect I know I will feel immaculate ecstasy when I find it. Roaming over the dessicated remains of the free world, I wear a cloak of love poems and carry a library card as a weapon. The bankers are closing in on all of us, teeth sharpened to a point more piercing than truth. There is nowhere to run. Now I must learn to see without eyes, sew my future without hands, and sing hymns to my God of spilled wine.