The universe spins under my feet and the nation takes a breath, while I stand motionless and in awe.
A sense of damage makes me uncomfortable, as the work continues beyond my sight.
Emotions try to assert themselves, but I keep them under control for now.
The nation is dying. Canada is dying.
The money looks up and smiles, it’s control is absolute and it knows.
The plutocracy never sleeps because the job of control is a lifestyle, not a goal.
We were supposed to be gods, the next step in evolution made manifest now.
Instead we fight about gender and racism and money and powers we don’t possess, with our egos urging us on.
I vote for criminals, I vote wealthy people into power.
I am inconvenient for them, and they no longer fear telling me so.
They close our cities and our factories, because a ship or a road is not profitable if it costs money to build.
The ideologies we hear on the news are about others, and we try to make them fit into our quiet little world.
They pay for my silence with comfort, and soon the bill will arrive.
I was bribed with my own money, but I can’t learn that truth without breaking the law.
My home is leaving me forever, my car is leaving me forever.
The cancer is in the bone, and soon I will feel it.
Truth is illegal, sharing is illegal.
Disagreement is illegal, protest is illegal.
Community is illegal, solidarity is illegal.
I cannot look away, to hide my face is illegal.
We are not alone, the world is large and well funded.
The mortgage doesn’t care about country or race, it doesn’t care about sovereignty.
To eat is universal, the largest lever ever built is moving the world.
I don’t care, it is my part of it I want back.
I try to be good, the probation paid in cash cannot complain.
I consume, we all consume.
I know more consumption isn’t the answer, but that’s a crime.
Break the arms and legs of those who don’t agree, break their bank and their credit.
Somewhere there is a place I can love, the time is not mine to dictate.
Somewhere is a nation as great as we were, the men and women shine like jewels.
Somewhere cash is a servant, not a master.
Somewhere the past makes the present look bright, not shabby and mean.
Emotions are not a good idea, and the tempers of the children will be their undoing.
I try to tell, and I am sentenced to frustration.
Circular thoughts in the cold, and the plutocrat lifestyle is so hot right now.
It’s so cool to kill, so cool to maim.
The universe is watching with a jaded eye, this play always ends with the same scene.
The players run and jump, cry and shout.
Torn costumes and a tragedy, the King is taken in the night.
An endless million dots, swarming on a plate.