Again, pre NaPoWriMo. Let the bad poetry begin!
The economy requires
that we hold onto each other,
thousands of darkened rooms
inside our states, our golden plains
feeling swindled, flimflammed.
The news swallows us like a sinkhole.
This is the new currency encrypted
with the fine contradictions
of gains and losses. This is
the world is as it has always been:
full of grifters, because they know
there’s one born every minute.
Time will turn us into fragments
before we finally catch on.
What will the wind
cheat us out of today?