Zero and the Anti-Dollar Doing nothing at all, Zero sat Gaping at TV, his last lone dollar Crumpled inside a small itchy palm. The news had begun. War shot through the air Like blood. Virulent statistics stirred His insides like poison. The dollar sweated in his hand; It thickened his veins with potential. Looking out Zero saw a V-sign Projected on the night sky. He locked the window, Shut the blind. On his face he chalked A mask of desperation to hide his apathy