I exist
in the hollowed-out form
of human decency - where government
should be.
So close am I
to a poet
that I can creep inside
a husk
and fill it up,
using the language
of the oppressed,
like a perfect consumer.
You see, I’m a free market
fundamentalist; I’ve gotten pretty good
at being dispassionate.
Big government disguised
as little government, or vice
versa, it don’t matter -
I don’t exist,
like angels,
or a unicorn,
but my fiat currency
is brandished
as your gold standard
(Yeah, I’m that sneaky),
trademarked
all over
with compromise and equality.
I’m the slip
on the red dress
of capitalism - each time
like the first - setting the truth
on fire, then selling you
water, ‘cause, uh, compassion?
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