Take your chest in your hand again
Stop for now the rising thudding
That means there’s still a little more to own
Lay down on silk sheets the blood and muddy
Stuck layer complaints they mention on the news
It’s not your problem tonight. It’s not your sister tonight.
It’s not your jeans sewn in Cambodia by Martian slaves
You couldn’t fuck if they’d let you. The numbers rise
Like tide water to your ankles. It’s that dream
The one where you wake up with aids and a tail.
Your contact says this time you wont come back
Control says proceed, license to kill, assignment to die
Land quietly and buy everything you’ll need
To make the week until the mission ends
And you receive instructions again, “Lie low, be nothing.”
Inconspicuous rich among the sheep, they’ll eat
And you’ll watch and pray and know
Profit is slavery and has won.
© 2012 Yorgo Douramacos
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