Trades, or: Eggs and Milk aren't the Only Things up for Trade

Splinter
as you speak in offered fragments
of a judgement we rushed and
sometimes it all feels plastic
and wraps around lungs and we go under
lights flashlights lightbulbs headlamps streetlights stoplights
Almost real
Opaque satin almost surrounds this moment
and just when we all thought the plot had thickened too rich
For this wallet constructed by barters no one could keep
Because someone has got your might in the grasp
Of what we all should have been