A Poem About [REDACTED]

There is something in my house.
I can not see it nor smell,
I can not hear it nor tell:
If I’m near it,
if I fear it,
if I fell.

There is something in my house,
in the air,
in the chair
and the shelves.
It’s in my books,
on my desk,
it is in my monitor and looks.
My phone is full of it,
my toothbrush and my head.
It has followed me here.
It has been all around me,
since the day that I was born.

There it is again.
You are looking right at it,
on your screen
and in the mirror.
It is the beauty,
the unbelievable mayhem,
the power,
the incomprehensible network
of unthinkable scope and complexity.

It is the downfall of all
and saviour of some.
It is destroying us in the most beautiful and horrible ways.
It will not end
through a peaceful change
nor a violent revolution.
It will end on the day
that humanity as we know it
will end,
for better or worse.

Now tell me,
Son of Marx,
Daughter of Luxemburg,
tell me,
what could possibly
be more scary,
more important,
than global market capitalism?
And whom would you ask to find out?

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