capitalism is now, just a dream
they said work hard
keep your nose clean
stack your pennies like bricks
and one day
you’ll climb out.
but the ladder’s gone,
the hole’s deeper,
and the air tastes like metal.
soon there’ll be
a cast system—
you’ll be born tagged,
wired,
catalogued before you can scream.
they’ll weigh your blood
against a market index,
sell futures on your failures,
buy stock in your bones.
every hard hour
you break your back
will only push you
further into their registry,
a number on a glowing screen.
and when you spit blood
from the machine’s grind,
it won’t matter—
the algorithm already
owns your ghost.
dreams?
dreams are cheap liquor now,
poured in plastic cups
by the same hand
that stamps your barcode.
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