F**k Capitalism

I am a force of nature.
my winds are wasted on retail,
but sometimes surviving takes precedence over living.
sometimes you have to sell your soul to pay your rent;
it’s ugly business, but technically legal.
I wonder when,
if ever,
we will have given enough of ourselves
to the continuation of a system
that traps wildfires in jars until they suffocate,
poaches dragons and crafts
handbags from their scales,
reduces gods to marketable cartoon characters,
takes everything beautiful,
everything beyond comprehension,
and finds a way to sell it to the masses.
I wonder when my hurricane
will crash on the shores of your
empire of plastic.
I wonder if you know
your name is on the tongues of every
dead-end revolutionary,
every act of god,
and you
are not long for our world.
I wonder
if your profits
will rent your business a nice lot in the graveyard,
or your soul a kinder hell.
I wonder if you recall
by whose mercy
you were allowed to flourish
in the first place.