DEATH OF THE SOUL

drowned by our systems
algorithms
Al Gore rhythms
a signal fire
(or the end of a vape-pen)
a semaphore
(of discarded floss-sticks)
but for what—
we’re hanging on
like the loose tooth
of the world
sinking into an apple
ethicless
as big wind
oil in the ocean
or the end
of water
a bit of blood
on your dumb nikes
a dollar or so
beneath your pillow
good luck kid