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Poem

If I had a factory I would actually produce nothing at all because

Satisfaction can never be mass produced let alone happiness

Workers would not manufacture for their hands should be free

To craft rather than assemble in strict prearranged conditions

They would not sit idle of course but follow their creative minds

Overcome the vile dictate of fabricated needs for the masses


‘Back to poor roots’ established purveyors of doom interpolate 

‘We need money machines not fine artisans and philosophers’

‘Leave thinking to the masters and disavow your utopian craze’

So while I am called a renegade rebel I lay claim to contempt

Of blindfolding slaves with cheap goods instead of pure virtue

Do not mind the malevolent label of anarchic revanchist treason


‘But what will they eat instead of the scraps from our production’

‘They will starve if we do not lead them like sheep to the slaughter’

‘We are kind humanitarians willingly sharing the means to our end’

I admit that my concept of work houses with no preordained tasks

Threatens the status quo throws a spanner into a well oiled machine

Of domination and marginalization fine tuned in centers of control


Yet the disorganized factory which I never owned in the first place

Will invent itself as soon as the non-workers can think on their own

Evolution is rather industrious and nothingness counts for a lot

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