Fourth Dimensional Print Job

Digital eraser of the backspace in place of the rubbery nub

Of a yellow number two pencil flittering its pink fairy-dust eyelashes

Typing source code supplanting the genetic instructions of the cell

Humans playing god like evolution scrabble transposing blood for electricity

The landscape of ant-hill cities burrowing and building continental lairs

For the queens to devour the superfluous asexual horde as discretion calls to her

In the bellies of consciousness derived from programmed pheromones

Hunger caked in a frosted lollypop buried by plankton and ferns

Bitches go get that slick slop cherry top and lug the grease to the factory floor

Oh e Oh, Oh, O, Oh e Oh, Oh, O

Robot machinists shifting drilled remnants flowing the idolatry of the bolt

To eliminate every segment of sinew possible so that the conversation is muted

To a number

One harnessing in stocked pile preponderance coned like a warhead

Submit or she launches like a despot on tour for the lowest common denominator

For human desperation mapped in bicameral approval

Defining water, air, and toil rights to trade eons for earnings per share

For engineered monkeys on typewriters fumbling towards three dimensional printers

Economically efficient to produce chaos in the chemistry of binary codification

Printing where hands were previously required accelerating extinction

As complement to the tenacity of a beast’s right to dominate his environment

Like the Walton family crest downing a Coca Cola Starbucks in Luxottica eyewear

With Ernst and Young reviewing the Citi Bank financing Monsanto’s crop

For a Visa exchange fee for the vig at the Reservation’s casino to keep the squawk down

News crawls on the candidate’s war chest dollar cup size slaloming getting “primaried”

And the probability of the majority exceeding the filibuster threshold two years from now

Lactating intransigence from Lady Liberty to milk the freshmen senators to grow up

Like tenured savants of negotiated democracies plugging in to the ant queen

The lie of the ant hill is the individual is valued over the group; one perpetuates

While the lines of peons scavenge for a lick hazed into a monotony

That you just might lose the bit you have if you rile up, we’ll let the real crazies loose

From the rice, coffee, cotton, and soybean fields like you forgot the hands not done pickin’

Harvester dragon tractors aint absolute, but we workin’ for the boot

To hide the mathematics of what is macroeconomics

To see that two businesses producing the same object and profit margin

But one employs a million and one employs five are not the same 

Because you see the difference is always retained

The trickle is never down

Minimum wage is just a clamp on a pipe

Redirecting a dividend for a stock price

Fundamental barriers to entry raised for the titans

That the sixty-sixth trillion is easier than the seventh

The traveling currency like frozen blood in an artery hardened in banks

Of stacked reserves asleep at the wheel as the masses idle

The wake of human voices attempting purpose and left feckless

Realizing we never needed the efficiency of marvelous delivery drones

We simply needed the heart to pump and cells flush in oxygen to circulate

So that as one imagines the world; one sees a land

Where all the clean air has been purchased to be purchased back in tithe

A mansion on the hill inhales and exhales with Chantilly icing on the carpet

As the real terminator does not use bullets but the idea

Of the group over the individual flipped like a vice  

That one never introduces the idea that we are each in on the thought crime

Worms on a hooks no longer wiggling

Waiting, saying, “Yes mam, please just don’t swallow me whole.”