I can’t fault the billionaires
Who, having lost all touch with reality long ago
Desired to form something of reality in their own image
And ended up making something shitty, worse
Took a tumour and give it more cancer
It’s to be expected
Entropy and App updates
Wanting what you can’t have
By the metrics of the modern man
They’re as close to god as the system allows
The systems they’ve championed and refined
A machine that lifts them ever-higher
Maths of ifs/thens driving mindless engagement
It makes them feel alive
These measurements that matter to them
They can sell it all if they need to
Vast resources, valuable time
An accurately inflated sense of self
Their magnum opus
Eight-dollar check marks
Premature terminations
The cackling smile of a spoiled brat
The end of a very specific world
Blue birds and short songs and
independent artists
content creators (hurl)
poor people
I can’t fault water for being wet
A heart can only multiply what already fills it
Shit and Money
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This poem was written in the fall of 2022 for my creative writing class. I wonder what it’s about? hah.