eat the rich

they have faith
they’ll get away with it
with the tipped field
and the secret game
the careful wording
the cunning position
they know they deserve
more than the mere
pile of misery beneath
their shiny shoes
days go by
more and more and more and more
long hours spent
calculating casual cruelty
their father’s fears of revolt
assuaged — by tech!
all those bodies sweltering
in their hi-def cages
they’ll never know
until the last drop of blood
is sucked up the tube
happy at the end
of their own reality show
so forward and more and more
push the throttle ahead and
watch them turn on each other
good sport
great profit
Darwin
But Oh! The Flaw
the hard stone surface
of the anti-empath
cold to the pain
so certain of success this time
this time we’ve won forever!
and this dark machine will serve
our meals and our wills
where does the agony go?
i don’t know! don’t care!
into the air! somewhere out there
with the ruined lives and dead dreams
can we leverage that and sell shares?
but Oh! The Massive Flaw
the quiet wave from the dark machine
the pressure and the mass
pressing old gauges locked in the shed
to their red ends
but the Winners breakfast calmly on sad children
so certain that this time
the wave won’t break
won’t sweep their stone hearts
into dust
won’t rise and seize their wicked monster-souls
and squeeze them into
dark history