what
is
poetic
innovation
in a new gilded age
when the top .1 percent
of poetic mass
writes loud, but says
nothing?
my words can be unevenly spaced
like the gap in wealth, wrongly distributed
like the accumulation of capital,
but my aroused rhymes
will never speak for regressive tax rates
and my suggestive similes
will not stand for stagnant wages
for the other 82 percent
of truly honest earners.
no mere mortal banker can burst
the inflationary bubble
of these admirable adverbs;
no lecherous lobbyist can dwindle
the rate of return
of perfected pronouns;
what use is a moral majority?
when the majority truly has
no morals,
what is the point of literary analysis
for the analytically
illiterate?
unmet human need
is always good
for those who suck on its shape
like a child eating a mango,
freshly ripened
off a row of careening
trees.
