The world

He looks at you with the tired, with the belly full of hunger, distended

The world did feed him all the things he didn’t need

and chose for him

and blamed him for being the reason

And saying, reiterated, convincing

He matters to something, but has to prove he matters to something

and doesn’t matter to simply matter

that the makings that make him aren’t enough to exist

and lesser are his reasons to live.

We built the world and added values to symbols, forged metal under mountains, built another planet, build a world on top of the mining, and burned wood to cook, and carbon sediment to see,

named it all energy, and progress

Complicate, reinvent, shift

Dig deeper, the holes fill with black gold, and develop develop at speeds horses can’t gallop. Blind to the cracks that fissure and micro-tectonic the foundations where foundations mingle.

make a web of disconnection, like a shattered pane held together by magic, holding to the distortion

teetering as shards

domesticated wolf to dog and tiger to cat and bird… to chains

And turned on ourselves realizing we are still animal, given the right training

sharpened our carrots and sweetened our sticks

and framed forest to hang pulverized rock and cardboard and paint, and chemicals to keep it all from being returned to the earth.

more chemicals, more, more, more

wired ideas to chips

human, or disguised plastic

person, or decorated apparatus

machine appliance tool device instrument utensil contraption gadget structure system

contrivance

Prioritize, it said, make them right and appropriate

listen

The top can’t stop itself from looking up and reaching back, down, with delusion, proven

Impersonate suffering to reaffirm

their survivorship bias

And laugh at us complacent, believing in fairness, distracted by affirmative action

laugh

laugh

the hierarchy finds it funny that so many could fight for fairness

The demands sneak in like decimals of imperceptible decibels and smells that might not really be there

and concentrate into a distraction machine

until he can’t breathe but doesn’t know because little sips of life have been stolen from him in the blinks on the peripheral vision

and bounces and icons and vibrates and pings

and colors and colors and colors until he doesn’t know the difference between color and addiction.

Until a shape makes him look at his phone and need a release and find it—regret—find what someone else wanted, and chose him.