Products come to market
in a slurry of rockets
though it's once told
that below the gold
lies a 60 cent profit

while daring hearts dream
of yonder streams
that feed the leaves of trees
grown gold and ruddy
in the evening light peace

of wilder questions.
like cold fusion,
they burst the seams
with truth to be free
and be rid of the chilly pills

supposed to be the solutions.
supposingly enough
because of the trade-off
between bad and better-than
or maybe even a few rather-thans

as time flows brightly
in a slurry of rockets
while daring hearts dream
like cold fusion,
maybe we're better off
than a few rather-thans