in the glitter.
under the bright lights.
these electrons that glimmer.
this glittering
that is not gold.
big smiles in blue shirts.
the new fascist fashion?
he pushes black buttons
and raises
an eyebrow.
i raise one too.
he tells me it’s my fault
that the binary is
ornery.
no.
it is my fault
i am ornery
but it’s a lack of
jobs
that this apple
rots at the core.
there are a billion
reasons
why work has become
shoddy.
the profit margin
makes the prophet
grin.
and my teeth
grind
like an asian
grindstone.
grinding visions
into dust and
sandy wafers.
this glitter that
is fool’s gold.
this harbinger
of disaster.
my pound of flesh
wasted.
my time wasting
as idiot grins
and they’re tagged
as geniuses.
savants with the emphasis
on idiot.
but that’s unkind.
after all it is my fault.
the worm turns
a profit moat
now a mote in my eye.
blinded by all that
glitters
scarring my cortex
an uneasy feeling
a vortex
in my bowels.
the bitter taste of
fool’s gold.
perhaps now is the time
to fold.
perhaps the number 7
speaks of heaven.
a wider more stable
vista?